Defying Destiny
by Dog in the Manger
Summary: Ranger was content with a life devoid of emotional attachments, until he met a white girl from the Burg. In the years he watched over Stephanie Plum, if luck didn't get her out of a tight spot he swooped in to save her. But that night, he arrived just a moment too late, after her luck had run out, triggering a chain of events that would alter their lives forever. A Babe HEA
1. Bang-Bang, I hit the ground

A/N: The standard disclaimer applies to this story. I'm not JE and I don't pretend to be, as such, I'm only borrowing the characters that belong to her for a little fun.

Even though this story doesn't follow the canon timeline, it may contain spoilers for all nineteen books.

Before we get to the story, I'd like to thank _Merciki _for introducing me to the world of Plum and urging me to start writing again, and _Highlands girl_, my incredible beta, for patiently proofing draft after draft of each chapter, pointing out my grammar blunders and helping me tie-up loose ends in the plot. Thank you both from the bottom of my heart.

One night, after I'd finished reading _Hard Eight_, I started thinking why Ranger's lifestyle might not lend itself to relationships...

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**DEFYING DESTINY**

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_A quoi peut me servir de trouver le destin..._

_S'il ne mène pas à toi ?_

_What good is it to me to find my destiny…_

_ If it doesn't lead me to you?_

Lara Fabian - _Immortelle _

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**Chapter 1. Bang-Bang, I hit the ground**

Stephanie reached for the handle and pushed against the rusted metal. The window creaked open, letting hot and oppressively humid air into the room. A trickle of sweat slithered down her spine, as she peered into the darkness, listening for anything that could mean her attempt to escape had been discovered. But, other than the buzz of cicadas and the hum of cars, speeding along the interstate, she heard nothing.

The parking lot was just as deserted as it had been that afternoon, when she followed Rodney 'Easy Money' Alembert, her good-for-nothing skip, to the rundown industrial district on the south side of Trenton. A small time scammer, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box and didn't notice Stephanie tailing him when he pulled away from Seven Eleven on Sloan Avenue.

For the next hour, Rodney aimlessly drove around the greater Trenton area, testing her patience and the limits of her latest hunk of junk, posing for a car, until he stopped an abandoned warehouse. When he entered the building, Stephanie looped around the back and parked out of sight. After locking her car, she made a beeline for the door, that Rodney had disappeared behind, and cracked it open. Even though the dilapidated building looked empty inside, it didn't hurt to be careful, so she slipped in quietly, armed with a stun gun that was, for once, fully charged.

Sneaking around the tall steel racks, lining the floor, she spotted Rodney walking into a door at the back of the warehouse. Assuming she'd nab him without much of a struggle, she crept in after him and was caught off guard by the sight of an elderly gentleman, hunched over a desk.

The man looked up from the plans he had been studying and flashed her a sharp smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.

"What a pleasant surprise, Miss Plum. So nice of you to join us."

Before she could formulate a response, a nasty blow to the back of her head sunk her into oblivion.

When Stephanie regained consciousness, she was alone, lying on her side on a cold concrete floor of a dingy room. The pale moonlight streamed through the panes of a large window, hitting the narrow windowsill, and pooled on the floor, breaking up the darkness. The smell of dust and mold, filling the stale air, was suffocating. Her vision was blurry, her throat was parched, and her head was throbbing. She tried to move her arms, but her wrists were bound behind her back. Tugging on the restraints, she winced from pain, when the rough rope bit into her flesh.

Rolling onto her stomach, she managed to pull herself up and sit back on her knees, wishing for an ice pack and for this day to never have happened. _Hey, when you dream, dream big,_ she thought bitterly, closing her eyes in hope that the pounding in her head would stop.

This time, she had no one to rely on but herself: the cavalry wouldn't be coming to her rescue. She had laid into Ranger that morning, ditched her panic button and all her trackers on the sideboard by the door of his penthouse apartment on Haywood, and stormed out of the RangeMan building. Later, when Stephanie was leaving the bond's office to go after her skips, she refused Lula's offer of backup, unwilling to endure the third degree about her personal life or discussing anything that involved Ranger.

She didn't need Lula to tell her that she had overreacted that morning. It wasn't as if Ranger had promised her commitment. On the contrary, he had always been very forthcoming about his intentions and the nature of the relationship he was willing to offer. Her delusions were hers and hers alone.

After she'd called it quits with Morelli five months ago without any intention to reconcile with him ever again, Stephanie's prospects for a social orgasm were slim, or, rather, nonexistent. Her hormones were going haywire from sexual frustration, and in a lust induced haze, the idea of turning to Ranger for release didn't seem ill conceived. She figured she'd deal with the emotional baggage later, or better yet, never. Was she wrong, or was she _wrong_!

While she had known for some time that she was in love with the man of mystery, she never intended to tell him how she felt, but last night, the confession just tumbled out. She could have anticipated any response, but the one she got. He froze. And it became obvious to her then, that she had made a grave mistake.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered. "How could I've been so _stupid?_"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the memory. But her attempt was futile: their morning argument kept replaying in her mind as though it was rolling off a deranged movie reel.

_As soon as she walked out of his bedroom and saw him by the window, staring into the distance, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. __Dread coiled in her stomach when she heard his low and controlled voice, saying the four words she hated most, as he stood still, facing the street._

_"We need to talk."_

_She stiffened, feeling a lump the size of a tennis ball form in her throat, and was unable to utter a word. He took her silence for acquiescence and continued._

_"Steph, I'm not the man you think I am."_

_Flinching on the inside at his use of her full name, she opened her mouth to speak, but he turned around then, and the words froze under the intensity of his gaze._

_"I love you, Babe. But it doesn't change anything."_

_She searched his face, trying to identify the emotion that flickered in his dark eyes. Giving up, she asked softly, "What are you telling me?"_

_"I can't offer you the kind of commitment…"_

_"Jeez, Louise," she cut him off, rolling her eyes in exasperation. Even though she suspected that she'd have better luck breaking through a brick wall with her bare hands, than getting Ranger to listen to what she had to say, she had to give it a shot._

_"Don't you see, Ranger? Your friendship has been a more of a commitment, than my relationship with Joe ever was!"_

_"Stephanie."_

_His voice was rough, as though he was teetering on the edge of his control. If she hadn't gotten so adept at reading the subtle changes of his blank expression, she would have missed the slight flare of his nostrils, when he paused to let out a cleansing breath. But as soon as he resumed speaking, his tone was once again flat._

_"You deserve more, not less. And no matter how much I want to be the man to give you that, I can't."_

_"That's a load of crap, and you know it!" She glared at him, realizing that not a word that she had said got through his thick skull._

_"No, it's not." The resignation in his tone riled her up, so the tension around his mouth and the pain that flashed in his eyes went unnoticed._

_The sense of déjà vu washed over her as she recalled their conversation after he'd collected on the DeChooch deal. Working herself into a full blown rhino mode to avoid bursting into tears, she let him have it._

_"You're one cold bastard! You pull me into your life only to push me away. What am I, a fucking yo-yo? I can't believe you're feeding me the same line of crap again…" Her voice wavered as it occurred to her that this time she had initiated their tearing up the sheets, but then, reminding herself that he hadn't exactly refused her advances, she forged ahead. "Why bother telling me you love me, if you're going to qualify it with enough fine print to fill a dozen car commercials? Do you get off on trampling over my heart?"_

_If she wasn't as angry as she was, she would have laughed at herself for being this naïve, thinking that their friendship could grow into something more. And when he said nothing in response to her diatribe, she turned on her heel and stomped off into his bedroom to get dressed. Two minutes later she came back out, pulling her unruly curls into a ponytail. Ranger hadn't moved a muscle, standing by the window, silently watching her dart around his apartment, gathering her things._

_Finally, she stopped to pick up her handbag. Rummaging through it, she mustered up enough restraint to match his dispassionate tone._

_"I'm sick of your twisted mind games, Ranger."_

_Unable to find what she was looking for, she shook all the contents out onto the sideboard by the door, and then shoved everything back, leaving the trackers, key fob, and panic button._

_"I won't be needing these anymore."_

_She turned to him, meeting his eyes for the first time since walking back into the living room, so he could see __the fury and pain his words had caused her._

_"I hope you made the last mind fuck count, because I've had it. __You can strike this entertainment line item from your budget."_

_"Babe."_

_She didn't give him a chance to say what he had intended, because she didn't have it in her to continue their argument. They were clearly at an impasse: if he couldn't be bothered with understanding what she needed from their relationship, not allowing for the possibility that it could develop beyond friendship, then there was no reason for her to stick around._

_She turned away to slide on her shoes, slung the handbag over her shoulder, and reached for the door handle._

_"Save it, Ranger. I'm done."_

_Her heart was breaking in her chest and she scrambled to get away, refusing to add to her humiliation by falling apart in front of him. She slammed the door as hard as she could and ran down seven flights of stairs, forgoing the elevator. The flicker of hope that he would stop her went out when she got to the underground garage. She jumped into her car and tore out, barely waiting long enough for the security gate to open, as if the hounds of hell were hot on her heels. Making it to her apartment in half the time it usually took her, she let the tears flow, collapsing on her bed._

Stephanie gave herself a mental head slap. This wasn't the time to contemplate her relationship or lack thereof with Batman. There had to be a way out of the rotten situation she had gotten herself into, going after her skip without backup.

She blinked a few times and looked around, hoping to find something she could use to rip the rope, binding her hands. Except for a tall metal rack in the corner, the room was empty. Like an inchworm, panting from the stifling heat and effort, she crawled over to the rack and twisted around to rub the rope on the rusted corner. As soon as she felt it loosen, she pulled her wrists apart. Pins and needles pierced her shoulders as she rotated her arms in an attempt to get the blood flowing, the circular motion easing her discomfort. Her wrists and palms were raw from the friction, but she was free from her restraints. Now she had to look for an escape route, since she couldn't have much time before her captors came back for her.

The door was locked from the outside, but the window wasn't sealed shut. After getting it open, she pulled herself up and climbed out onto the ledge, holding onto the bent bars outside. There was at least a fifteen foot drop to the ground, but, thankfully, a pile of tires was scattered on the blacktop below. She waited until the clouds covered the moon, submerging the parking lot into complete darkness, and dropped down, bracing herself for the impact. Landing on the vile smelling rubber with a dull thud, she caught her breath and rolled off. When she rose to her full height, a stab of pain lanced through her ankle.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath._ And I thought this was going so well._

Even if her ankle wasn't broken, there was no way it would now hold her weight, thwarting her plan of running across the lot and hiding behind the next building to make it to her car. Moving along the wall, glancing back every so often to ensure she wasn't being followed, she ignored the burning pain in her ankle and limped ahead. A metallic clank echoed off the building walls, when she stumbled over a steel pipe in the darkness.

_Way to be aware of your surroundings, Steph,_ she thought with reproach, plastering herself against the side of the building. Expecting to be discovered, she held her breath, but didn't hear any suspicious sounds. Wiping sweat off her forehead, she started moving again, keeping an eye on the ground, wary of making another noise. Reaching the end of the wall, she peered around the corner of the building to check if anyone was guarding the door.

The parking lot on this side was just as dark and empty. All the lights were off and the moon was still hiding behind the clouds. The next building over was at least thirty yards away, a distance which, with the state of her ankle, was daunting.

Clenching her teeth, she separated from the wall and started across the lot. When she was about half way there, the rumbling of a car engine broke through the silence of the night, as a truck with dark headlights parked at the far corner of a building across the lot. Even though no one got out, she realized she was completely exposed and had to scramble for cover. Forgetting her throbbing ankle, she broke into a run, when a stab of searing pain tore through her back. The force of the impact propelled her forward, and by the time she hit the ground, she felt nothing.


	2. I close my eyes only for a moment

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story.  
_

_Highlands Girl, you are an amazing beta and I can't thank you enough for the work you've done on this chapter.  
_

_____I'm really touched by all your reviews and alerts. And even though _I was only planning to update this story on Thursdays, your feedback convinced me to upload a bonus chapter this week. _You guys are amazing. _

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**Chapter 2. I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment's gone**

Ranger pushed his office chair back from his large mahogany desk and stalked over to the window. Steel and glass of the downtown skyline looked grim against the faded blue of the late summer sky. Heavy clouds were gathering at the horizon and then drifting toward Trenton, likely to unleash a vicious thunderstorm before nightfall.

A nasty sense of foreboding had settled in his gut, which he was able to ignore at first, focused on planning a takedown scheduled for later that night. Earlier, he had closed the door to block out the noise from the control room floor and concentrate on his work, but as the hour of the op neared, the unease grew. And a suspicion that it had nothing to do with the takedown and everything with the curly haired brunette, who had run out on him that morning, wouldn't leave him alone.

Standing at the floor to ceiling window, Ranger ran his right hand over his face to get a grip. He had no reason to doubt that he had made the right decision about his involvement with Stephanie, even if she didn't see it the same way. _Had she known…_ he stopped the thought in its tracks, as it served no purpose. Even if he risked coming clean and she didn't cut him out of her life, thinking that he'd finally gone insane, he wouldn't be fair in asking her to keep his secret without offering anything in return. That was a cross he had to bear on his own, which meant he had to put distance between them. He wanted to see her happy, but couldn't give her the life she deserved. So he had to let her go, no matter how much pain he would endure by settling for being no more than her friend. And now that his misguided attempt to explain once again that he was only able to offer her friendship had backfired, he needed to find a way to repair the damage he had done to their relationship without giving her the wrong impression.

Brushing his dark thoughts aside, he stretched to ease the tension from his spine and returned to his desk, where a picture of a gray-haired man stared at him from the computer monitor. Wanted by the feds for fraud, money laundering, and several counts of murder, R.J. Decker could lay claim to scamming millions of dollars from elderly investors all over the country. Despite his distinguished looks, this skip was a nasty piece of work, worth half a million upon delivery. He was a man with the morals of a maggot, known for handpicking talent for each job. He never worked with anyone twice, either paying for services rendered or ruthlessly tying up loose ends. Time and time again, his methods served him well, as he had evaded capture for over thirteen years.

But the sizable reward money wasn't the only reason Ranger was intent on apprehending Decker himself. The last time their paths had crossed, the scumbag vanished like smoke after putting a bullet into Lorenzo 'Loz' Reyes, then second in command of the Miami office. And for three years all the leads turned up empty, until two days ago when Lester got a tip that Decker had been spotted at a diner on route one in Lawrenceville. After some of the superior investigative work that RangeMan was known for, they tracked the skip to the industrial district on the south side of Trenton.

Scanning the file he could quote verbatim, Ranger felt a familiar energy shift and tore his eyes away from the screen, only to find his second in command seated in one of the leather club chairs, waiting for the boss to acknowledge his presence. For as long as he'd known Tank, the man had always been able to move with astounding stealth if it suited him, despite his formidable size.

"Update," Ranger said without inflection to mask the unease he'd been brooding over since morning.

Tank laced his fingers together over a thick manila folder he'd put on the edge of the desk. "Intel confirmed. Decker is holed up in an abandoned warehouse by the river."

"What about his men?"

"Five thugs. Not his usual M.O. One's a local weasel Vinnie bonded out, who's now FTA. Others are a mixed bag." Tank pushed the folder across the desktop. "There. See for yourself."

Thumbing through the contents, Ranger nodded and said, "Assign Santos, Brown, Vince, and Zero to teams two and three, put Cal and Junior on standby. Hal's in charge of the control room. All hands on deck." He paused, looking up and leveling a dark look at his oldest friend, his eyes anything but dispassionate. "We're taking this asshole in." The implication '_dead or alive' _hung heavy in thebrief silence that followed. "Tonight."

"Affirmative," Tank said, studying Ranger's face. When he had walked into Ranger's office, he picked up a vibe that the boss was off-kilter, but chose not to comment and discuss more pressing matters first. Now that the details of the op were settled, he had to know for sure what was going on with _his_ _friend_. Leaning forward in his chair, he splayed his large palms on top of the desk. "You sure you're up for this, man?"

"Briefing at nineteen hundred hours." Ranger ignored the obvious concern in Tank's voice and turned his eyes back to the computer. "Dismissed."

Over the years, Tank had learned to spot signs when Ranger thought his control over a situation was slipping. Ranger's aloof demeanor and clipped phrases reaffirmed his hunch. But given the circumstances, the timing for the boss to battle his inner demons couldn't have been worse.

Tank rose from the chair and headed for the door, debating whether to call Ranger out on his mood. Deciding that if his silence cost a life, he would never forgive himself, he turned around and waited for Ranger to give him his full attention. When he looked up, Tank spoke, conviction forefront in his tone.

"Best be sure about this, Ranger. Can't afford to lose focus. Loz did. You know what that got him."

Not expecting an answer, Tank left the office and closed the door behind him. He hated bringing up Lorenzo's injury, knowing that Ranger took all mistakes made during that takedown personally, but he didn't see any other way to get his friend to snap out of his funk.

Ranger's jaw tightened. As much as he didn't want to accept the harsh words, Tank was right. When the leader went into the takedown half-cocked, his men got injured or killed. And the last thing he needed was another casualty on his conscience. Even though it was hardly a secret that the danger associated with working for a paramilitary security firm carried a certain appeal for most RangeMen, as their commanding officer, Ranger had always considered it his responsibility to do everything in his power so they returned from their assignments unharmed.

During the debriefing after the botched takedown, it became obvious that Decker didn't have to shoot Lorenzo for a clean getaway. He did it to send a message to the rest of the team, warning them off standing in his way. And while it would have worked on run of the mill bounty hunters, it had the opposite effect on RangeMen. While they thrived on the adrenalin rush of the job, accepting the risk of death, they often consciously ignored the possibility of suffering a disabling injury. Lorenzo had been one of those men until the armor piercing round from Decker's gun entered his back, turning his life into every RangeMan's worst nightmare. Extensive damage to his spinal column caused complete paralysis below the waist, condemning him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, without any hope for recovery. There was nothing they could do to help Lorenzo, other than continue hunting the scumbag. And now, three years later, their efforts were about to pay off, as they would settle the score, while serving justice. It was high time Decker learned that payback was a bitch.

* * *

Hal walked into the conference room at RangeMan as the teams were gearing up for the takedown. Six sets of eyes followed his path across the floor in silent inquiry. He stopped in front of Ranger, shoving his hands into his pockets, and then rethought the action, dropping them to his sides under the intense gaze of the boss.

"Got a bead on Bomber." He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before continuing, "SOP*, Hector was checking employee trackers transmitting from the field. The tracker in Steph's shoes puts her at the warehouse with Decker and his men."

Muffled curses filled already tense air in the room, and it was as if the temperature dropped at least ten degrees. Given Stephanie's history, it didn't come as a big surprise to anyone that she managed to get in the middle of an op they had been working toward the past three years.

Hal cleared his throat, indicating that he wasn't done. "We pulled the records for that tracker from the last six hours. It's been in the same position for the last four."

"Transfer the signal to my truck," Ranger ordered, before addressing the rest of the group. "Move out!"

Once in the garage, he tossed the keys to Tank, climbing into the passenger seat and barking orders over the earpiece to Cal and Junior.

"Team four in position." Cal's voice cut through the tense silence of the airwaves ten minutes later. "What's your ETA?"

"Team one, two minutes out," Ranger said, as they sped by the Marine Terminal and took the exit off the highway. The remaining two teams echoed Ranger's response.

Three trucks reached the industrial park and split up, killing the headlights and slowing down. Rolling into the dark and empty lot, Tank parked at the corner of the building directly across from the target warehouse.

Ranger spotted Stephanie's dark figure, limping across the lot only seconds before he saw an open window on the second floor. The pride he felt at witnessing her escape froze in his chest, when he heard the sound of a single gunshot. Time stopped, as she stumbled before crumpling to the hard asphalt.

"Secure the perimeter," he shouted into the headset, bolting from the truck.

Sprinting to her side, he collapsed to his knees next to her prone form. He ripped off his shirt and pressed it to the wound in her back, attempting to stop the blood flow, but realized the futility of his actions when he saw a puddle of blood spreading from underneath her body. Gently turning her over, he sucked in a breath, seeing the exit wound in her chest. He pulled her limp body to his chest, feeling her blood seep through the fabric of her clothing and onto his bare arms.

The rapid staccato of gunfire and the rumble of truck engines, turning over, hardly reached his mind. Then, he absently registered Bobby's voice over the airwaves, reporting that the perimeter was clear, and updates from Cal and Vince that their teams were in pursuit of vehicles with Decker and his men. At the moment, none of it mattered to him.

In the years that he had gotten to know the force of nature that was Stephanie Plum, he often marveled at how lucky she was, beating impossible odds without proper training and walking away from near death situations more or less unscathed, over and over again. And yet, he should have realized that even her incredible luck had its limits.

He felt Bobby and Lester join Tank in covering his back and nodded, granting the medic permission to check Stephanie's pulse. The hitch in Lester's breath, as Bobby shook his head, not attempting resuscitation, confirmed what he already knew. By allowing his emotions to get in the way of his judgment, he had put her in danger. Otherwise, he would have never given in to her demand for space or let her leave her trackers in his apartment. But he did, and Stephanie paid the price. They'd arrived too late. She was gone, and there was no one left to blame but himself.

Three men hung their heads, standing in a semicircle around their friend and boss, waiting for his orders. When none came, Tank took a step forward, putting his large hand on Ranger's Kevlar covered shoulder. Ever since he had realized the depth of Ranger's feelings for Stephanie Plum, he often wondered if a time would come when his silent support would be the only thing he'd have to offer.

"Don't." Ranger's voice was rough. "Leave."

Lester tried to reason with him. "We have to call it in…" Before he could finish, a loud crack of thunder drowned out the words Ranger didn't want to hear.

"No. Now leave."

A flash of lighting discharged over the parking lot, followed by another crack of thunder. The energy of his friends' presence faded as they walked away, abiding by his request for a final goodbye.

Running his hand over Stephanie's face to close her eyes, Ranger placed a soft kiss on her forehead, just like he had countless times in the last few months, tonight, for once, not taking it for granted. He cradled her in his arms, his eyes searching the pale mask of her once beautifully expressive face, now completely still and lifeless. Reaching out to wipe a streak of blood from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, he felt a tremor in his shoulders.

"I failed you, Babe," he whispered, swallowing harshly. "Dios, I never thought it would come to this. I thought… I hoped that I would protect you better if I kept my distance."

A large drop of water hit his neck, followed by another on his arm, and then another, the rain building until it turned into a violent downpour. It drenched them both in a matter of seconds, washing Stephanie's blood from skin and clothes, running in rivulets across the asphalt.

Ranger looked up at the sky, letting the water run down his face to cool the burn of his silent tears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shed them for anyone. He didn't think he still had it in him, but even in death, Stephanie proved him wrong: the very thing he desperately tried to avoid by not letting her into his life became his reality decades before he had expected. She was taken from him much too soon, and he was left to mourn her for eternity.

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_*SOP – Standard Operating Procedure_


	3. I never found a wall I couldn't climb

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story.  
_

_Highlands Girl, you are the best beta and I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you.  
_

_Everyone, since last chapter caused a bit of a stir, I hope this one makes up for the heartbreak. Thank you all for your reviews and alerts. Now, on with the story...  
_

* * *

**Chapter 3. I never found a wall I couldn't climb**

With a parting strike of lighting, the rain stopped as quickly as it began, the sky cleared, and the moon flooded the parking lot with silver light, rousing Ranger from his anguished stupor. It was time to go. Unable to bear the thought of Stephanie's death being turned into a public spectacle, he made a split second decision. She deserved better than to be found in a desolate parking lot.

Cradling her limp body to his chest, Ranger rose from his knees, and started walking toward his truck. When he was only a few feet away, her body went rigid in his arms. He stopped in his tracks, stubbornly refusing to believe that his hunch about her had been right all along. But she stirred again, interrupting his introspection. Jerking open the rear door, he laid her on the seat and tore her shirt down from the hole made by the bullet to examine her chest. The skin where the exit wound had been minutes earlier was unbroken. He slid his fingers under her back, only to find nothing there either, as she sputtered, gasping for air.

Stepping back, Ranger pinched the bridge of his nose, silently berating himself for ignoring what his gut had been telling him since their first meeting at the diner. Of all people, he should have known better than to doubt his instincts, and as reluctant as he was to admit, some part of him had to have accepted her true nature, when he allowed himself to dream of _their_ _someday_.

Leaning against the door, he waited for her breathing to even out. His mind was reeling from coming close to losing her and then getting her back all in the same hour. It wasn't as if he'd never seen it happen before, yet now with Stephanie, it felt different. But, by the time she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, he had regained enough of his composure to take care of her.

Blinking to focus her bleary eyes on his dark form, she finally spoke, her voice coming out a hoarse whisper. "Ranger?"

"It's me, Babe." His fingers wrapped around her wrist, checking her pulse. When he felt the erratic beat under his thumb, he asked softly, "Are you in pain?"

She shook her head, grasping his hand to sit up, and cleared her throat, trying to remember why she woke up in the back of his truck. "No," she paused, "I don't think so."

Her mind was foggy and her body didn't feel like her own. Unable to come up with a reasonable explanation for either, she asked, "What happened?"

"It's a long story. I'll take you home. Then, we'll talk."

Not trusting her voice, she nodded in agreement. Feeling sluggish, she let her eyes drift shut and fell asleep, before Ranger could say anything else. He yanked his windbreaker from the duffel he always kept in the truck and pulled it over her head to cover her shredded shirt. Needing reassurance that she was breathing again, he gathered her into his arms, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. After touching his lips to her temple in a light kiss, he settled her in the front passenger seat. He closed the door and walked over to the driver's side, stripping out of his bulletproof vest and removing the earpiece. After tossing both into the back, he dressed in a fresh shirt, climbed into the truck and started the engine.

Stephanie didn't wake before he reached the highway, so he decided not to change the destination he had in mind. Now, it made even more sense to go to the house, for the privacy it would afford them couldn't be matched by either his penthouse on Haywood or her apartment.

Ranger assumed that an hour long drive would be enough for him to collect his thoughts, but his mind had other ideas, replaying the hurt and anger he had seen in Stephanie's eyes that morning. He wondered if those feelings would still be there once she learned the secret he'd been keeping from her. Conflicted with relief and regret, he contemplated ways to explain what had happened to her, as hiding behind obscure innuendos was no longer an option.

"This isn't the way to my apartment…"

A tremor in her raspy voice brought Ranger out of his thoughts, filling him with an urgent need to reassure her. "Do you trust me, Babe?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Then trust me. We're almost there."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her fidget in her seat. And as much as he wished to ease her discomfort, he couldn't: her body was still adjusting to its new regenerative abilities. Feeling a phantom numbness next to his left clavicle, he repressed an involuntary shudder, reminded of the aftereffects from a fatal curare-soaked dart. He had blacked out from asphyxia, and after he had regained consciousness, he felt stiff, disoriented, and weak for hours, as his body rebelled against him. It was an experience akin to a severe hangover, which he was eager yet unable to forget. Shaking off the memories, he stole another surreptitious glance at Stephanie. She was curled up in the seat, looking out the window at the nondescript shrubbery along the side of the dark highway, as they zoomed by.

"You're taking me down the shore?" she asked, turning to him when they passed through the tolls of the Garden State Parkway.

The corner of his mouth twitched in an almost smile, his mood improving at the evidence that her shock was wearing off, giving way to her innate curiosity. Being evasive wasn't his purpose, but he couldn't give up the small pleasure of witnessing her uninhibited reaction to the house.

"Five minutes. And you'll see."

She opened and then closed her mouth. Asking him questions was futile when he was set on keeping her in the dark. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she tried recalling what happened earlier that night, while playing with the zipper pull of the windbreaker, and wondering why she was wearing it.

Until they stopped at a red light, she wasn't paying much attention to the road. But when the truck moved across the intersection, she noticed the name on the street sign and recognized the upscale neighborhood with high fences and pristine lawns.

_Rumson? What the hell are we doing in Rumson?_

She got her answer when Ranger slowed the truck at a large wrought iron gate. Green light blinked on a panel in a stone column and the gate slid open, revealing a long, tree-lined alley, illuminated with antique looking street lamps. The truck rolled to the end of the drive and around a tall multitier fountain. Distracted by the rainbow of colors in the splashing water, Stephanie didn't look at the stone façade of the house behind the fountain and came out of her reverie only to realize that the truck was parked in a garage and Ranger was no longer inside. Before she had a chance to panic, her door opened, and she was lifted from the truck by a pair of familiar arms.

"Ranger!" Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears. "I can walk," she added softly, trying to tone down her outburst.

The corners of his eyes crinkled in understanding that despite her weak state, she needed to feel some control over her body. He set her down, but was unwilling to risk her stumbling and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leading her toward a polished wooden staircase at the far wall of the garage. After stopping at a small pad on the wall to put in a code and scan his palm, he opened the door into a long softly lit hallway, decorated with black and white silver gelatin prints.

The sound of their footsteps echoed off the hardwood floors, as they headed for the foyer. Despite having Ranger's arm around her, Stephanie still felt unsteady on her feet. Realizing he had slowed his stride so she could walk on her own, she thought that this was one of those times when independence was overrated and she should have just let him carry her. When he stopped to turn on the lights, she missed a step and had to grip his waist to remain upright and froze, stunned into silence by the sight before her eyes.

"Wow," she breathed, only marginally recovering her speech, taking in the gleaming marble floors of the two-story foyer and the double staircase leading up to the second floor. "Just wow..." Her voice trailed off again when her gaze fell on a suit of Conquistador armor complete with a sword, standing in the corner of a room that had to be the library. She looked at Ranger with widened eyes, "Is this…"

"The Bat Cave?" he finished for her, the corners of his mouth tipping up, before he schooled his features into his patented blank expression.

"No, Babe. There's no Bat Cave. This is just another place I own."

He'd teased her about the Bat Cave in the past, but the truth was that for decades, until she came into his life, he had no use for a home or craved one. Though, it never stopped him from acquiring real estate he considered a prudent investment. This turn of the nineteenth century colonial had been no exception: nothing more than any other piece of property he'd bought, seizing a golden opportunity.

"I thought you were going to take me home…"

"This was a better option. You need to know what happened tonight. And this conversation doesn't need an audience."

She let go of his waist and took a step back, wanting to hear the rest, but swayed, almost losing her balance. When he held out his hand, she stepped back again and would have fallen on her ass, if he wasn't fast enough to catch her.

"Babe." There was a hint of reproach in his concerned tone. "How do you feel?"

She clung to his arms, hating her body for betraying her, and mumbled into his chest, "Confused. Lightheaded. Sore."

"What about your ankle?" Noticing her confusion, he explained, "You were limping earlier."

"Huh, I don't remember that." She studied her feet. "It feels fine." When she raised her head, she had to close her eyes to stop the room from spinning.

"How about a bath?" Ranger asked, holding her to his chest. "It'll make you feel better."

A bath sounded heavenly, but she needed a change of clothes and hair products. She had neither and shuddered, thinking that her unruly mane must have turned into a rat's nest.

"There's nothing wrong with your hair." His tone was soothing, lacking the usual innuendo. "And you can borrow my sweats."

Her cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment. "Out loud?"

He nodded with a hint of a smile. "C'mon. Let's get you upstairs and out of these clothes."

He lifted her into his arms and, after sprinting up the stairs, carried her into the en-suite bathroom of a bedroom on his right. Inside, he sat her down on a teak bench next to a cast iron tub and unzipped the windbreaker. When her eyes fell on the ruined shirt, she let out a gasp, not knowing what to think. Pulling it off, she stared at the torn fabric, covered in dried blood.

_Holy cow! Where did all this blood come from?_

Jumping off the bench, she twisted around to the full length mirror and shrieked, seeing the bloody smears all over her back.

_I'm not in pain. This blood can't possibly be mine…_

Her eyes were raking over the reflection of her body. "Wha…"

"You were shot."

"Is this some kind of a sick joke?" Her eyes shot up to meet his in the mirror.

"No, it's not."

Leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, Ranger was close enough to reach if she needed his help, but far enough so he wasn't crowding her personal space.

_He can't be serious. There has to be another explanation,_ she thought, examining the skin on her chest, oblivious to standing in the middle of the bathroom, wearing nothing but her black skinny jeans and pale pink bra.

"I don't see a bullet hole." She pointed to her chest. "Do you?"

"No. And physically, there's nothing wrong with you right now."

No longer satisfied with the eye contact in the mirror, she whipped about, but the sudden movement upset her balance and she landed on the bench, air whooshing out of her lungs.

Immediately, his hands went to her forearms, steadying her, and his concerned eyes focused her face. At her stunned expression, his thumbs started tracing random patterns over her skin. "Babe?"

"Right. There's absolutely nothing physically wrong with me." She glared at him, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. "Did you forget already that you had to carry me upstairs? I can't remember anything worth a shit, the room won't stop spinning, and I'm incapable of standing for longer than five seconds without falling on my ass…"

"Steph, stop." He interrupted her rant as her voice started rising. "You'll work yourself up to a panic attack." His tone took on the soothing quality it always got when he was handing a critical situation. Reaching behind her with his right hand, he turned on the chrome faucet and tossed a few handfuls of aromatherapy salts from the jar on the ledge into the water. "Let's get you undressed and in this tub. I'll explain, after you're done."

"Fine," she muttered, thinking that she had no problem pretending that there were no gaps in her memory or blood stains on her shirt. Otherwise, she'd have to accept that her wounds had miraculously healed, and she wasn't ready for that. So, she'd take a bath now and ask questions later. Finished with her internal dialogue, she saw that he had crouched down in front of her to pull off her shoes and undo her jeans. But as his fingers brushed the naked skin of her stomach, she shivered. Cursing her wild hormones in her head, she bit her bottom lip and met his dark eyes.

"I'll take it from here, thanks."

Ranger would have had to be blind to miss her reaction to his touch, and wanted nothing more than pull her into his arms and never let go, but knew that she needed space. As much as he hoped the bath would relieve most of the aftereffects, he didn't want to take any chances with her balance issues. If she fell and injured herself, she would heal quickly, but he didn't want her to endure any more pain when he could prevent it. So he rose to his feet, laid out two thick ivory towels on the white marble counter, and pointed to intercom pad above the tub.

"I'll wait downstairs. Buzz me when you're finished."

She rolled her eyes. "Ranger, I don't need your help getting dressed."

"Babe. Please." Once he uttered the word, they both knew she would do as he asked, so she nodded with resignation, and he left the bathroom, lightly closing the door behind him.

She stripped out of her clothes, pulled her hair into a bun, securing it with one of his leather ties she found in the top drawer under the counter, and lowered herself into the water. Thinking about her day, she remembered her morning fight with Ranger, her trip to the bond's office, and the merry chase around Trenton after her skip that ended at a warehouse, but not much after that. Random images swirled in her head, but she couldn't tell which ones were real and which weren't.

Giving up on recalling the events of the past few hours, she leaned back against the tub and let the water work its magic. The scents of vetiver and eucalyptus relaxed her stiff muscles and eased her anxiety. By the time the water cooled off, Stephanie felt strong enough to face Ranger again and get the answers he had promised. She climbed out of the tub, wrapped herself up in a towel, and ventured out into the bedroom.

A pair of black sweatpants and a shirt was laid out on the king size bed. She smiled at Ranger's thoughtfulness. Even after getting her to agree that she'd call him when she was done, he left the clothes out for her anyway, trusting her to make a decision about needing assistance. Her smile was short lived, once she realized that she'd have to go commando.

_When in Rome…_ she let out a deep sigh. It wasn't as if she had a choice, so she got dressed and walked back into the bathroom to hang up her towel. She was about to press the button on the intercom, when she felt an intense sensation at the back of her neck that spread through her like an electric charge, sending shocks down her spine and rocking her to the core.


	4. Bad mistakes, I've made a few

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story.  
_

_Highlands Girl, I can't thank you enough for the time you've spent working on this chapter with me._

_It's officially Thursday on the East Coast, so this update is a little early. It's my way of thanking you for all your comments and alerts.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 4. Bad mistakes, I've made a few**

"I sure hope you know what you're doing." Tank's tone was laced with concern. _Have you gone crazy, man? Should I send reinforcements? _Expecting him to push the issue, Ranger stayed silent. While he would have preferred to keep Stephanie's ordeal to himself, he didn't have that option. Tank wouldn't drop it, unless he was convinced that his friend was of sound mind. And since Ranger just told him to have Lester run the overnight bag Ella had packed for Stephanie up to the house in Rumson, Tank had a valid reason to question Ranger's sanity.

The silence stretched for another beat, before Tank spoke again. "_Carlos_, Steph is…"

"One of us, _Pierre_."

Tank's startled laugh boomed over the phone line. "No shit…" Relief was palpable in his tone. "I've always known that our girl was special."

Suppressing a twinge of possessiveness that flared up, when Tank referred to Stephanie as '_our girl', _Ranger redirected the conversation to the FUBAR op.

Decker and his men left the warehouse in three vehicles and split up, after crossing the river into Pennsylvania. Short a team, the RangeMen in pursuit had to choose among the targets to follow. For Vince and Zero, a high speed chase down the interstate amounted to nothing, when their Explorer hit a pothole. A busted tire cinched Decker's escape, forcing the partners report to Haywood empty-handed. Cal and Junior were more successful in tailing a nondescript van to South Philly, but the target they picked up and put in a holding cell was none other than Rodney Alembert, the skip Stephanie had followed to the warehouse earlier that day. And even though Ranger doubted that the small time scammer knew much about Decker's score or backup hideout, he decided to take the lead on the interrogation.

"Keep the douchebag awake. And get a complete background check for fuck's sake. No more surprises. I'm offline until the debriefing at zero six hundred hours."

He ended the call, his gaze locked on the reflection of the moonlight on the water surface. For the umpteenth time that day he was staring out the window, trying to reel in his temper. Tonight, resisting the urge to hurl a paperweight off his desk against a wall to shatter the glass was proving difficult. The muscle in his jaw twitched. Yanking open the door to the deck, he strode out without taking his eyes off the ocean, but the sound of the surf did little to settle his rage. He stilled for a moment, watching the waves, and then stalked back inside, shoving the door against the jamb. The hinges held, softening the impact, and the door shut with a hardly audible click.

Casting a glance on the mantel clock, he realized that over an hour had passed since he had left Stephanie upstairs. The aftereffects of the change she had gone through should have subsided, which meant he should have heard from her by now. But before he could check on her, he had to get in control of his emotions. The last thing he wanted was to scare Stephanie off with a flash of his temper. Taking air in through the nose, he let it out from his mouth, and repeated the process until he felt calm enough to see her.

Ranger supposed he should have been grateful that she was alive and with him. Closing his eyes, he struggled to subdue his body's reaction to the scenes that flooded his brain at the thought of her soaking in the tub upstairs. He had always been hyperaware of her presence, but the charge he felt earlier, when the tips of his fingers skimmed the naked skin above her jeans, was akin to electric shock. Forcing himself to think about the things he needed to tell her, rather than letting his mind wander down a dangerous path of imagining whether being with her would feel any different, he ran up the stairs to the second floor. Barely making it over the threshold of the bedroom, he called out, "Babe?"

Stephanie walked out of the bathroom, with his sweats rolled up to avoid tripping herself, to find Ranger standing by the door.

"Feeling better?" he asked, watching her unconsciously rub her neck, as he tried to gauge whether she was still unsteady on her feet.

"Much..." Her stomach growled, before she could say anything else.

"I was going to ask if you were up for dinner." Holding out his hand, he flashed her one of his megawatt grins. "But, I just got my answer. Let's go eat."

Grasping his fingers, she followed him down the stairs, musing about the nearly constant physical contact he had kept with her ever since they had arrived at the house. As they were crossing the foyer, she realized that while it was possible he worried about her falling over, even if there was more to it, her learning his true motivation was unlikely, so she decided not to question it.

She snapped out of her reverie, when Ranger led her into a bright and airy kitchen. A table was set by the picture window, overlooking a rose garden. He helped her into a leather barrel back chair, poured water into their glasses and settled across the table, with his back to the wall, waiting for her to break the silence.

Stephanie picked up her glass and studied him over the rim, before taking a sip. She needed to know what had happened to her and couldn't understand why he was stalling, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, even though it couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm still mad at you, you know."

"You sure about that, Babe?" A small smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth told her that he wasn't buying her outburst, but his eyes were serious, lacking the spark of amusement, which usually accompanied their banter.

"No…?" There was doubt in her voice. "I don't know. I'm not, but I should be."

"But you're not. And that's what matters."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" _Or will I have to drag every single word out of you? _ She added in her head, waiting for his blank mask to slam down. It never did.

"Yes. But, I need to know what you remember, first. Will you tell me?"

There was an inexplicable sadness in his eyes, and an odd note in his tone. If this wasn't Ranger, she would have said it sounded as if he was pleading, but that couldn't be right, because Batman didn't plead. She trusted him to come through on his promise to explain everything, so if he wanted to hear her side of the story, it wasn't from idle curiosity. Thinking about where to start, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and then let out a breath.

"I followed my skip to a warehouse, had the daylights knocked out of me once I got inside, and blacked out… After that things get fuzzy. I think I climbed out of a window and jumped down, hurting my ankle. I can't be sure though." She paused to look under the table and flex her ankle. "Clearly, there's nothing wrong with it now."

When she looked back up, his eyes bored into hers, urging her to continue. "Is that it?"

"Not exactly." She hesitated, trying to remember. "Didn't you say I was shot?"

"You were." His tone was flat as he spoke, choosing his words to avoid revealing too much too soon, so she wouldn't run out on him again. The only way he thought to lessen the shock from the revelation was to let her remember what she could, piecing the puzzle together on her own.

"So, let's see if I get this straight. A few hours ago, I injured my ankle, but it's healed now. Then I got shot and almost bled out, yet, I'm alive."

She looked to him for confirmation and got a nod in response. Gripping the edge of the table to avoid jumping out of her chair, she leaned forward and tried appealing to his common sense.

"But, Ranger, that's impossible," she said emphatically, adding in her head, _not to mention totally crazy._

"It might seem that way at first." His lips tipped up in a humorless smile. "But that won't change what you are, Babe."

"Excuse me? Won't change _'what'_ I am?" Her voice rose, and she leveled a 'Burg death glare on him. "And what the hell is that, pray tell?"

"Immortal."

She stared at him, wide eyed, and started gulping air. Her heart leaped into her throat, and blood was pounding in her ears. Before she could faint, Ranger made it to her side, turning her away from the table and pushing her head between the knees. Running his hands over her shoulders, he spoke in a low voice.

"Deep breaths, Babe." His fingertips were ghosting over her neck. "That's it… slowly in… and out."

When the panic attack subsided, he eased her back up, rubbing his hands up and down her arms with a little more pressure, but still keeping his touch light.

"Thanks, I'm all right." Sinking back in the chair with a sigh, she closed her eyes. "Of course, all right is a relative condition," she muttered under her breath, opening her eyes to find him watching her.

And in that moment of clarity, realization dawned. She had died earlier that evening… but didn't stay dead. She needed to know why, and since Ranger wasn't volunteering anything, she had to push for answers.

"If I'm immortal, does that mean I can't die? I'll live forever?"

"Not exactly," he hesitated, briefly considering the possibility that she would bolt, seeking refuge in denial land, if he laid out the whole truth, but she didn't give him a chance to dodge the question.

"Spit it out, Ranger. You promised you'd tell me what I wanted to know."

"You won't die from bullet wounds, stab wounds, asphyxia, or poisoning…" Causes of death rolled off his tongue in a litany, his clinical manner of speech making her wonder if he recited it often, when his last words caught her attention. "…if the vital organs are intact, the body will heal. But removing the brain, heart, or lungs…"

"Ugh! I get the picture. You just had to go there, didn't you?" She cringed, cutting him off, as her imagination offered up ways how the vital organs could be removed from a body. Picking up her water glass, she took a long drink to fight off a wave of nausea. While she was trying to regain her composure to continue their conversation, it occurred to her that he must have had an ulterior motive for being graphic, knowing that it would affect her.

_But why? _As soon as the question crossed her mind, the answer hit her like a ton of bricks. _The smug bastard is hiding something. Again. What the hell could it be?_

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know these things? If all this is true, and I'm taking a gigantic leap of faith here, how do _you_ know that I'm immortal?"

"You never disappoint, Babe." His smile was warm, but the eyes were still missing the spark. "I was wondering when you'd ask me this question."

"And?"

"I know you are, because so am I."

"No way…" she breathed, her mind flooding with more questions. "How old are you exactly?"

"I was born in 1479. In Toledo."

"Ohio?" she blurted, realizing that Toledo, Ohio, most likely didn't exist in 1479.

The corners of his eyes crinkled, as the spark of amusement finally flickered in their depths. "Toledo, Spain."

"I thought you were Cuban?" she asked dejectedly, looking out the window, peering into the darkness outside, away from his penetrating stare, so he wouldn't see her berating herself for being naïve. Hating that she had believed him, when he had to have lied about his past, and that now, when the things he was saying seemed unfathomable, yet rang true, she needed to know more.

"According to my current birth certificate. Yes."

"What do you mean your _current_ birth certificate?" She turned her head back to look at him so fast, it was shocking that she didn't get whiplash, and was struck by the resignation she saw in his eyes.

"The legal system isn't equipped to handle special identity cases like ours, Babe. We have to improvise." His tone was even, his posture was deceptively relaxed, but he was still rationing the answers to her questions.

"Improvise how?"

"A new set of documents every twenty to thirty years. Or better yet a few sets. Just in case."

"But, but… Why?"

"That's just about as long as you can get away with, if you don't let anyone get too close."

Seeing confusion in her eyes, he paused, relieved that she didn't call him on his slipup. There was something about her that had always made him lose control of his mouth, telling her things he shouldn't. And he really didn't want to discuss his reasoning for keeping her on the fringes of his life; especially since he was no longer sure it held any water.

She had to understand that changing her identity every so often was crucial to her well-being, so he clarified, "Steph, you won't look a day older than you do today. For the rest of your life." He let it sink in and then continued, "And you don't want to have to explain why."

"So, I guess this is one of those legally gray areas?"

"You could say that." Ranger fell silent, deciding to talk about those, who were less particular about obtaining their new identities another time, and Stephanie was too preoccupied to notice that he was holding something back. They finished their meal, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"I'm beat," Stephanie said, suppressing a yawn and setting her napkin next to the empty plate. Stretching, she rose from her chair and was about to start cleaning up, when he stopped her.

"Leave it. Maritza, the housekeeper, will take care of everything in the morning."

"Okay… Then I'm going to bed."

After making her way upstairs, she closed the bedroom door and found a pair of black silk boxers on a wingback chair that she hadn't noticed earlier. Crawling under the covers, she was mildly disappointed that Ranger didn't offer to join her. Physically and mentally exhausted, she closed her eyes, but couldn't get comfortable. After tossing and turning on the sinful sheets for at least an hour, she gave up trying to fall asleep, threw off the covers, and stomped into the bathroom.

When she came back, Ranger was sitting on the edge of the bed. His hair was loose, brushing his bare shoulders, and her gaze lingered on his sculpted chest, her mind flashing back to the previous night.

_So much had changed in less than twenty four hours… _

Tearing her eyes away, she met his and tried to raise an eyebrow. Even though both went up, he got the message. Stalking over, he tugged on a stray curl, before pushing it behind her ear, and cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone.

"Can't sleep?"

"I'm exhausted, but my mind is racing a mile a minute." He was so close, she could feel the heat, radiating from his body, and desperately wanted him to pull her to his chest to drive away her fears, wreaking havoc on her brain, at least for the night. The soft plea tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Stay with me?"

He nodded, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and steered her to the bed. "C'mon, I'll tuck you in."

They settled under the covers, her back to his front, and she soaked up the feeling of security that always came from being in his arms. But when his fingers started tracing abstract patterns on her skin between the waistband of the boxers and the hem of the shirt, she was desperate for a distraction from his touch. So she took a shuddering breath and asked, "Tell me something?"

"What do you want to know?"

Sensing his withdrawal, she laughed, but it sounded bitter. "Everything? I know next nothing about you."

"You know all the important things. The rest is history. Nothing that matters."

His voice was low and even, so when she flipped onto her back to look up at him, she was surprised to see an unreadable expression on his face, as he hovered over her, perched up on his elbow.

"It matters to me," she whispered, before turning away, blinking back the tears that threatened to reprise their morning appearance.

For as long as Ranger could remember, he didn't share details of his life with anyone. Tank had been around for most of it, and neither Brown nor Santos asked many questions – they had their own secrets. Despite having been deeply religious in his youth, not even then did he believe that confession was good for the soul. And over the years, he had gotten so used to changing identities, he was no longer sure he possessed a soul of his own. But the upset woman in his arms wanted to hear his story, and for once, he didn't have a reason to resist.

He started speaking into her hair, absently running his fingers over her arm. "A long time ago in Toledo, a young don of a noble but destitute family grew up with little chance for a political career or a fortune. A second son born to a second son, he was groomed to become a page and served under Francisco Fernandez de la Cueva, the Second Duke of Alburquerque."

"What was his name?" Stephanie's voice was hesitant, as if she was afraid that her question would stop him from telling her the rest.

"Carlos Francisco de Mendoza," Ranger said softly, then rolled onto his back and pulled her into his side, before returning to his tale.

"The Duke grew fond of the young don for his quick wit, bravery, and agility with a sword, ignoring the short temper and vindictive streak, and, as an act of grace, arranged a marriage between the page and Ana Isabel de Padilla, the sole heiress to the de Padilla family fortune. But Carlos craved adventure over matrimonial stability, carrying on his dueling ways and earning a reputation of reckless valor. His desire for action was rewarded with an introduction to Alonso de Ojeda, a conquistador commissioned to sail for the Americas. Without giving much thought to leaving his wife or newborn son, yet not squeamish about using the family fortune to fund his part of the voyage, Carlos joined the flotilla as the commander of the second caravel, departing Spain for the New World.

They sailed along the west coast of Africa to Cape Verde and arrived at the Gulf of Paria. After making landfall, the young commander separated from the flotilla with his cavalry. On their quest for gold, which was rumored plentiful on the continent, they were armed with the sharpest swords and dressed in the finest armor. Starting the conquest of the virgin lands, the commander assumed that defeating the natives would be easy, and the thought that they were accustomed to different kinds of battle never crossed his mind. He paid a price for his arrogance, when a curare-soaked dart slid between the chainmail and steel plates of his armor, piercing the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Fleeing back to the flotilla, his men were forced to abandon his body, convinced that their commander had met his demise in the jungle.

Unable to return to Spain, as he would have had trouble explaining his miraculous survival and risked the trial of the Inquisition, Carlos was condemned to decades of exile…"

Lost in his memories, Ranger didn't notice Stephanie's breathing even out. When a soft sigh escaped her lips, it brought him back to the present and the dark bedroom, where the woman he loved slept soundly by his side. As he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest in the pale moonlight, he felt more at peace than he did in a long time. Smiling to himself, he kissed the top of her head and drifted off to sleep.


	5. I've said too much I haven't said enough

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story.  
_

_Highlands Girl, thank you so much for everything, I'm truly lucky to have you as my friend and beta.  
_

_It's still Thursday on the West Coast, so I'm claiming that I managed to stick to the posting schedule despite all the excitement that real life tossed my way this week. Hurricane Sandy brought about a few challenges, and not all of them bad. Yes, much like many of my fellow New Jerseyans, we are still dealing with a power outage, lack of heat, and damages to our house. But, everyone in my family is okay, including the latest addition. This morning, I was discharged from the hospital with my newborn son. And since now I'm a mother of two and on maternity leave, I plan to spend some quality time with my boys and, hopefully, write.  
_

_As far as the next chapter posting, I may have to skip next week, since the utility co is telling us that the power won't be back up until the ninth. I hope you stick with me through the brief interruption. Thank you for all reviews and alerts, your support of this story means more than I can say. With that, I conclude what has to be the longest author's note and give you the next chapter...  
_

* * *

**Chapter 5. I've said too much, I haven't said enough**

Startled awake, Stephanie sat up, tangled in the covers, panting. Unable to figure out what had woken her, she rubbed her face to clear the vestiges of sleep and took in her surroundings. She found herself in the bedroom of Ranger's house in Rumson, which meant that despite her hope to the contrary, everything that happened the night before wasn't a dream.

Judging by the sunlight filtering between the silk blackout drapes, she must have slept through the morning. She ran her palm over the other side of the bed, encountering nothing but cold sheets.

_Big shock there_… _Batman has a world to save. He doesn't have time to babysit your mopey ass._

Her pep talk did little to lessen the disappointment that came from Ranger leaving without waking her. Falling back, she shut her eyes and then, burying her face in his pillow, took a deep breath to inhale as much of his scent as she could, before flopping on her back to stare at the ceiling.

Looking around the room, she was trying to convince herself that she had to get up, when her gaze fell on a black duffle bag in the wingback chair. Since she was certain the bag wasn't there the night before, it was the final push needed to make her leave the bed. Rummaging through the contents of the duffle, she was thrilled to find her handbag, clean clothes and underwear, and a large cosmetic bag filled with Mr. Alexander's hair products and makeup. She plugged her phone into an outlet and, forgoing checking her messages, made a beeline for the bathroom. Spending the requisite hour taking care of the essentials lifted her spirits and gave her enough courage to face the day.

Smelling the decadent aroma of freshly brewed coffee from downstairs, Stephanie followed her nose to the kitchen, where she found a petite Latina with corkscrew curls, pulled back into a high ponytail, puttering around the large space. When the woman caught sight of Stephanie standing at the threshold, she broke into a wide grin and spoke in a warm slightly accented voice.

"Good morning, Stephanie. Did you sleep well? I'm Maritza, the housekeeper, yes?" Shooting another approving glance in her direction, the woman nodded and continued in her bubbly voice, "Very good, you found the bag I put in your bedroom. Ella sent it over with Lester. That boy is an incorrigible flirt, isn't he? Just like my late husband Tadd, God rest his soul," she made a fleeting sign of the cross, "what am I babbling about, you must be hungry! Let me pour you a cup of coffee. You take cream and sugar, yes? Waffles and pancakes are warming in the oven… Or, if you'd rather have eggs, I could whip up an omelet?"

The rapid fire of her words didn't cease until Stephanie was seated at the granite breakfast bar with a mug of steaming coffee and a plate, piled high with delicious food.

"Thank you, this smells amazing. I don't want to be any more trouble." Stephanie took a sip from her mug, savoring the rich taste of the eye opening liquid, and let out a soft moan.

Maritza smiled at her vocal appreciation. "Oh, honey, don't be silly. It's no trouble at all. I don't get to cook for Ranger or his men too often, and after Tadd was killed in a convoy ambush six years ago, I don't bother making breakfast at home. My boys won't eat anything other than cold cereal. Kids these days know nothing of the joys of food." She winked, sparks of mischief dancing in her warm chocolate eyes. "So? How about that omelet?"

"Oh no, this is more than enough," Stephanie said absently, feeling the onset of the unfamiliar sensation that had woken her up earlier. The electric current surging through her body came in ebbs and flows without an apparent cause. If it didn't bother her so much, she would have loved nothing more than to chat with the animated woman, who appeared to enjoy sharing stories.

"Well, eat, then! Eat, before everything gets cold."

Maritza's words cut through Stephanie's daze, making her realize that she neglected her breakfast, which had never happened to her before. She gave an apologetic smile to the housekeeper and dug into her food, shelving her musings for the time being.

"I'll get out of the way… If you need me, I'll be in the garden tending to roses." Maritza took a pair of pruning shears out of her pocket and made a clipping sound, before heading for the double glass doors.

Watching as the housekeeper disappeared from view, Stephanie decided to take a self-guided tour of the house, figuring that since Ranger had left her there, she had his implied consent. He'd known her well enough to realize that it would be an opportunity she'd never pass up.

After finishing her breakfast, she refilled the coffee mug and headed into the foyer. Ever since she spotted the armor in the library, when Ranger had brought her to the house, she couldn't get it off her mind and wanted a closer look. Walking through the airy space, she remembered the story he had told her last night and wondered if this was the armor that had once failed him. Approaching the stand, she studied the intricate scrollwork on the shoulders and chest of the suit. She couldn't tell whether it had ever been used because it was so well polished that she could almost see her own reflection in the armor.

Setting her mug on a side table, she ran her fingers over the cold steel plates, then slid them to the engraved pommel of the sword and over its ornate guard. Making a mental note to ask Ranger about the armor, she yelped in pain, when her finger slipped along the blade and its edge sliced through her flesh. She should have known that Ranger's sword would be more than just a beautiful artifact. Sucking on her finger, she tasted blood, but never felt the sting that normally came with a cut. Confused, she took the finger from her mouth and stared at the unbroken skin.

When Ranger had told her that her body would heal its wounds, she never imagined he meant it would happen that quickly. She wondered if larger wounds took longer, but wasn't about to test the theory.

_What am I, nuts? That hurt like a bitch…_ O_ne thing is to do it by accident, but on purpose… just no, _she thought, turning to pick up her mug and stepping away from the sharp sword.

At the other end of the room, Stephanie saw a set of double doors. A twin of Ranger's desk from Haywood was peeking from the other side, which had to be the study. Making her way toward it, Stephanie walked along the bookshelves, noticing that the early editions of _The Iliad_, _The Odyssey_ and _The Art of War_ found their place next to complete works of Shakespeare and Cervantes.

The study was done in the same rich mahogany as the library and Ranger's office on Haywood. Ensconced in his chair, she basked in the faint scent of Bulgari ingrained in the supple leather and stared at the ocean beyond the deck outside the window. But as another surge of electricity zipped through her, she realized that sitting there wasn't getting her any closer to figuring out the cause of the odd sensation. The view forgotten, she rose from the chair intent to leave the study, when her gaze fell on a picture at the corner of the desk.

The black and white photograph was faded, but the faces of the four men were still recognizable. Ignoring the increasing zing of electricity rushing through her body, she clutched the frame in her hand and moved closer to the window to examine it. After studying the photograph for a few minutes, any doubt that she might have had evaporated. As she was trying to figure out if she was troubled or relieved by the discovery, Lester's voice with an uncharacteristic southern drawl startled her.

"Camp Forrest, Tennessee. Fall of 1943."

She spun around to see him leaning against the door jamb with a coffee mug in his hand and a grin on his face.

"Give a girl a heart attack, why don'tcha?"

"Take it easy, Beautiful. I thought you knew that I was behind you."

"Seriously, Les? How?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't you think if I could, I'd avoid the '_you've got to be more aware of your surroundings, Babe,'_ spiel every time shit hit the fan?"

Lester chuckled at her imitation of Ranger, but sobered quickly. "Oh fuck… He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?"

"That's a tough one to explain." He raked his free hand through his spiky hair and pushed off the jamb. "It's not the same for everyone." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Did anything seem different about the way you felt before you saw me?"

"I don't know… To tell you the truth, I've been feeling off all morning. But now that you mention it… it did get more intense right before you scared the crap out of me."

"Considering I've been in the house for the last few hours, that makes sense."

Studying the faraway expression on his face, she tried to figure out what he meant, but it was far from obvious.

Standing next to her, Lester looked over her head at the ocean and then down at the picture she was still holding in her hands, and wondered if she was consciously tracing Ranger's image with her finger. Running his hand through his hair again, he finally met her eyes. "You'll get used to it eventually."

She set the picture back on the desk with a thud and folded her arms across her chest. "Les, can you drop the cryptic bullshit and use plain language?"

"I don't know what it's like for you, since I can hardly explain what it feels like, but I always know when another immortal is close. In the beginning, the sensation was a bit much, but not anymore."

"How close?"

"You're asking about me? Or you?"

"Both, I guess?"

"Sorry, Beautiful, you'll have to figure out what sets off your radar on your own. Trial and error. Mine is far from the best. But you can't be the best at everything, right?" He gave her a saucy wink. "Now, Ranger's..." He stopped himself before finishing the thought and looked away.

"What about Ranger's? You can't say something like that and expect me to drop it." She tried invading his personal space, but his height worked against her.

He easily dodged her angry glare. "My bad. You'll have to ask him. Or wait to see it in action."

Knowing she wouldn't get much from Lester once he decided to keep mum, she turned and headed for the doors to the deck, an exasperated dismissal tossed over her shoulder. "Fine. Then if there's nothing else, I'd like to be alone now."

"Hey, Beautiful, don't be like that."

She studied the patterns of the stone deck, realizing she was acting as a petulant child, but didn't feel the need to make it easier on him. It was his own fault for opening his big mouth and then cutting her off at the knees. She didn't think anyone would fault her for getting aggravated or giving him a hard time for teasing her curiosity the way he did. So she was going to keep her silence, waiting for him to either tell her what she wanted to know, or leave.

"We all served in the Fifth."

The flat tone of his normally cheerful voice had her whipping about to find him staring at the photo. Seemingly unaware of her attention, he carried on, "I met these three great guys while training at Camp Forrest, Tennessee. We were Rangers! What could have been better? I was ready to be a hero - young, eager, and fucking clueless," he spat the last words out with disdain, looking away from the picture.

The haunted expression she caught in his eyes was nothing like she'd ever seen before. Lester, the merciless tease, was missing and someone else was here instead.

When Lester spoke again, his voice was flat, as though he was trying to separate himself from the memory. "Eight months after this was taken, we were deployed to Omaha Beach, Normandy. The One Sixteenth landed ashore and was pinned down by machine gun and mortar fire from the cliffs above. It was a damn bloodbath. After breaking through four lines of defensive obstacles in the water, we had to scale up the elevation to give them cover. I almost made it." A lackluster smirk twisted the corner of his mouth. "At war, _'almost'_ doesn't count for shit. Bobby carried me out and helped clean up the mess. I didn't ask too many questions until we were behind enemy lines. Managed to get through half the central Europe, before knowing which end was up."

"I'm sorry, Les."

She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she pulled him into a tight hug, feeling guilty for her earlier behavior. A few moments later, when he stepped back from her embrace, she asked, "Bobby knew you were immortal, before you did?"

"No. Bobby was next to me, when I took the bullet. But he didn't know until after." He looked straight into her eyes, to see if she got the implication.

She chewed on her bottom lip, and then asked, "Ranger?"

When Lester nodded, she clenched her fists, as a tidal wave of anger swallowed all rational thought. "Where the fuck is he? Where's that rat bastard?"

Despite promising her full disclosure, he didn't give her any detail beyond what he felt she needed to know. She couldn't believe that of all the things to hold back, he had chosen this one.

Stephanie stormed out of the study with Lester hot on her heels. He wasn't sure whether Ranger had returned to the house yet, but if he had, Lester had to be there for their conversation. And he didn't care what fueled his motivation, running interference or witnessing the fallout.

Contemplating the ways Ranger could kick his ass for telling Stephanie something he deliberately left out, Lester stopped just in time to avoid running into her back, when she froze in her tracks at the threshold to the library.

Hanging on the back wall over the fireplace, the painting in a heavy gilded frame was a sight to behold. A horseman in full conquistador armor was brandishing his sword. The resemblance between Ranger and the man in the painting left no question about the subject.

She must have missed the portrait on her way in, preoccupied with the contents of the bookshelves. "Well, this certainly answers the question if he'd ever worn it," she muttered under her breath.

Lester understood her reaction, remembering that his own wasn't much different when he saw it for the first time. "Rumor has it," he quietly spoke over her ear, "that this painting was commissioned to Diego Velasquez in early 1600s by Juan Carlos Mañoso, an explorer who earned considerable wealth by hunting pirates of the Caribbean at the behest of the Spanish Crown. He also happened to be a great nephew of Carlos Francisco de Mendoza, the conquistador tragically perished on the coast of Venezuela, and a distant ancestor to Ricardo Carlos Mañoso." A chuckle broke through Lester's seemingly serious façade. "This work has never left the Mañoso family estate or been catalogued among the known works of Velasquez, but the attribution of the portrait has never been questioned."

"So that's really him?" she breathed, stunned by having tangible proof of Ranger's age staring her in the face.

"Vanity." Lester grinned with immense satisfaction, waggling his eyebrows. "Definitely my favorite sin."* The prankster she knew so well was finally back. His imitation of Al Pacino was dead on, and she laughed 'til she cried, despite wanting to hit something, or rather someone, in the face, with a Louisville Slugger.

Laced with barely concealed irritation, the sound of Ranger's voice from the intercom broke the jovial mood.

"Santos, if you're done sharing, get your ass downstairs."

"_Downstairs?"_ Stephanie mouthed at Lester, raising both her eyebrows. They were on the first floor, and since she hadn't seen a door to the basement when she walked around the house, she assumed that there wasn't one, as basements were uncommon in the shore houses of New Jersey.

He shrugged, cracking an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Steph. Duty calls."

Her hands went to her hips and her face took on a defiant expression. "Oh, hell no! If you're thinking of leaving me up here, you can forget it. I'm coming with you."

Lester wasn't about to argue with her, when she was wearing this stubborn look, and would let Ranger handle it. If he had a woman like Stephanie Plum vying for his attention, he wouldn't think twice about taking everything she was willing to offer. But he wasn't Ranger, and psychoanalyzing his boss, mentor, and friend was low on his priorities list. With a shrug, he swaggered over to the fireplace and looked back at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"We wouldn't want to leave the boss-man waiting, now, would we, Beautiful?"

She didn't respond, watching him push the silver candelabra on top of the mantel. A moment later, the fireplace slid off to the side without a sound, revealing a domed foyer with a spiral staircase leading down. Offering a flabbergasted Stephanie his arm, Lester asked, "Shall we?"

* * *

_A/N: *Lester is quoting The Devil's Advocate._

_A few reviews/messages commented on chapter names, and some recognized them as quotes from song lyrics. _

_Originally, I didn't plan it that way, but a soundtrack created itself as I was working on the outline of the plot for the story. If you'd like to listen to it, I've started building a playlist and added the link to my profile. I will be updating it as the story moves along, so I don't 'spoil' you before the next chapter is posted._

* * *

Since I'd started posting this story, I received a few comments that compelled me to put another author's note that explains the its premise.

In this universe, which, in my opinion, fits within the realm of canon, especially if you squint a bit, Ranger, Steph and the RangeMan core team are all immortal. A very savvy reader pointed out, thank you _masterb2_, that their being immortal puts this story into the realm of supernatural, which would mean that none of these characters are human.

Strictly speaking that would probably be true, but I decided to look into the concept of immortality in broader terms. As it often happens in such situations, I turned to my favorite place to start the research for my stories, Wikipedia, and this is what I found:

_Immortality is the ability to live forever, or put another way, it is an immunity from death. It is unknown whether human physical (material) immortality is an achievable condition —biological forms have inherent limitations which may or may not be able to be overcome through medical interventions or engineering. And even should human biological immortality be achieved, people could still continue to die from unforeseeable traumatic events._


	6. Words I said

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story.  
_

_Highlands Girl, thank you for your encouragement and amazing editing skills. And Merciki, thank you for a swift kick in the behind. I needed that._

_Everyone, thank you for reading, reviewing, and alerting this story. Your comments keep me going.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 6. Words I said when I thought they went unheard**

"Holy cow!" Stephanie covered her mouth with her hand. After everything she had experienced over the last twenty-four hours, nothing should have fazed her, but a staircase hidden behind a fireplace was too much of a fixture from a spy novel.

_This isn't normal. Although, has anything in my life been normal? _ _Ever? Not_ _since I've started working for Vinnie that's for sure. And definitely not now…_

The resolve to give Batman a piece of her mind for leaving out more than a few details during their last conversation, prevailed over the conflicted feelings that surfaced any time she thought about being immortal. So, she straightened her spine and headed inside the staircase, playfully swatting away the arm Lester had offered. Expecting him to follow, she realized that he had stayed in the library only when she reached the top of the stairs. Turning around, she tried raising her eyebrow and asked, "You comin'?"

Even though her curiosity was legendary at RangeMan, it never ceased to amaze him when she charged into the unknown with such abandon. Lester shook his head, grinned, and then stepped into the domed foyer. Before following her down the stairs, he pulled on a lever sliding the wall behind them back into place to seal them inside.

Once he started his descent, Stephanie turned back to the stairs and forged ahead. As far as spiral staircases went, this one was fairly wide, but wary of her dizzy spells, she took small steps, holding on to the iron railing attached to the wall, her hand gliding over the smooth metal. Last thing she wanted was to take a tumble ass over teakettle in front of Lester, all too aware of his scrutinizing stare on her back.

_I'd like to keep a shred of dignity here, thank you very much_.

As she made her way down, she began to doubt her rash decision to talk to Ranger in front of his men, as she was uncertain of the outcome. Not having enough time to think through the conversation with him, she anticipated a less than welcoming reception, when she confronted him about his failure to deliver on a promise of full disclosure.

But, an increasing tension at the back of her neck and spine was making it difficult to think. The sensation was unlike anything she had experienced so far, and it was growing. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, the intensity of the current zipping through her body was overwhelming. Little black dots started dancing in front of her eyes, and she would have collapsed, if a pair of strong arms hadn't caught her in time. Before blacking out, she spotted a smaller version of the control room and heard Ranger growl at Lester, but his words never made it through the fog of oblivion.

* * *

This was the second time Ranger was carrying Stephanie up the stairs bridal style in the last twelve hours, but the stark difference that struck him was that which she had been awake the first time, she wasn't now. And feeling the weight of her still form in his arms brought him back to the night when he had thought that he'd lost her. So much so he had to remind himself that Lester couldn't have anticipated the severity of her reaction to being this close to four immortals at the same time, since his own ability in that regard was limited, and as such he couldn't be held responsible for her current state.

Ranger had suspected that Stephanie's ability to sense other immortals was a close match to his own, but now it appeared that hers was stronger. He couldn't recall a time when the tension brought on by the presence of other immortals made him lose consciousness, although he had to concede that he didn't get as much exposure as Stephanie had just experienced until his body had been well adjusted.

Making his way into the bedroom, he settled Stephanie down in the bed and tucked the covers around her body. She looked so fragile lying in the middle, her still unconscious form dwarfed by the size of the bed and her creamy complexion paled by the dark curls fanned out on the ivory pillows. Unable to take his eyes off her still form, he realized that coming close to losing her made him question every decision he'd made about their relationship.

Needing to leave because his men were waiting downstairs for a briefing on the second attempt to nab Decker scheduled for later that night, he couldn't move a muscle before he knew that she'd be all right. Regret had become a familiar companion over the last twenty-four hours. Before he could dive any deeper into self-flagellation, a pair of sapphire blue eyes locked gaze with his own.

She wanted to sit up, but he stopped her. "You suffered a sensory overload and passed out. Don't try to get up yet, or you may feel lightheaded again."

There was a note of tenderness in his voice that she didn't expect to hear after their conversation just the other morning, and dealing with it on top of everything else life was throwing her way was too much for her to bear. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a long sigh, frustrated with her uncooperative body.

_Why me? I didn't ask to be immortal. I had a right to die last night._

He watched her tense up as she lay there in silence. Anger inevitably followed denial, and ESP was not required to see the direction of her train of thought, which Ranger had to derail, and fast, before it spiraled out of control. "Stephanie?"

"What?" she snapped, not bothering to conceal her exasperation or opening her eyes.

"Don't go down that road."

A part of him accepted that getting used to the idea of being immortal was something she had to do on her own, but it didn't mean he wanted to step back completely. He had hoped that she would stay in denial land a while longer so he would have time to help her work through the adjustment. Today though, the timing couldn't be more wrong.

Feeling guilty, he looked away from her face, and, through the window, caught sight of a sailboat at the horizon. A fleeting thought whether Stephanie would like to learn to sail crossed his mind, before he forced his attention back to more pressing matters.

If their intel was accurate – he had little doubt that it was – they'd get a second chance to apprehend Decker that night. Otherwise, the scumbag would vanish from Trenton with the score before the next morning and they would have to start their search over again. So Ranger could neither reschedule the takedown nor sit it out in good conscience. Instead, he would to have to settle for leaving Tank in his place to shoulder the burden and protect her if things went south.

Brushing uneasy thoughts aside, Ranger looked back at Stephanie. His eyebrows came together in a frown as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed next to her and twisted one of her wild curls between his fingers.

She opened her eyes, glaring daggers at him, and scooted back against the headboard without uttering a word.

_Am I this fucking transparent? I didn't say anything out loud. I might have become immortal, but I haven't gone nuts. Not yet, at least._

Knowing how much she hated his blank mask, Ranger allowed his face to reflect the worry he had felt for her since the shooting.

"Babe?"

"I'm assuming you have this brilliant insight into '_sensory overload'_ from firsthand experience?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. She wasn't being fair to him, unleashing her anger over the situation, but couldn't help it. While he wasn't to blame for what had happened, he exerted such an air of reserved all-knowing confidence while rationing information, it raised her hackles.

Appearing unaffected by her tone, he said evenly, "I've never had that strong a reaction. But you've always known when I was near." He watched her rub the back of her neck and clarified, sure of her answer, "Even before last night."

She nodded, mulling over his response, and then narrowed her eyes. Turned out she could get him where she needed without breaking Lester's confidence. Ranger didn't need to know Lester had filled her in on his superior sensory ability.

"Let me get this straight. You knew I was immortal before last night?"

"I didn't know for certain. But I suspected."

"And were you planning to tell me?"

"Babe."

He had her there: the implication '_How well do you think that conversation would have gone?'_ was as clear as if he'd said it out loud. Before she had a chance to respond, he rose and leaned in to ghost a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I have to go. If you want to head back to Trenton, your car is in the garage. Or you could stay here to rest, and we can finish this talk later. Maritza will have enough food to feed a small army."

"I'll stay," she agreed softly, choked up by the realization once again at how well this man knew what she needed. Unlike everyone else in her life, he didn't tell her what to do, but gave her a chance to make her own decisions. And today, he had someone drive her car over to his house from the scene in case she wanted to return to her apartment. He had also given her a place to escape her mother and the rumor mill of the 'Burg, if she wanted time to come to terms with her new reality without interruptions. Whenever she was with him, it was easy to feel in control of her life.

The sound of his voice interrupted her musings. He had made it almost to the door, before turning around. "Tank's staying here until I get back."

She swallowed a lump that seemed to have taken permanent residence in her throat, and whispered, "Don't get shot."

That got her a megawatt smile and a familiar response in return. "Don't go crazy," he answered softly and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Ranger strode into the downstairs meeting room where Tank, Lester, and Bobby were huddled by the large overhead screen with the plan of the railroad tracks at the Trenton Transit Center.

As he had predicted the night before, Rodney Alembert had no useful information about Decker, despite turning out to be his nephew. After breaking down under pressure from spending the night in the Haywood lockup, the little weasel was able to shed some light on Stephanie's presence at the scene. He copped to luring her to the warehouse to be held as an '_insurance policy'_ in case Ranger went after his uncle.

Upon discovering her escape, Alembert panicked and fired his gun in her direction, shocking himself by hitting her in the back, since on a good day he couldn't hit a broad side of a barn from fifteen yards away. And as all hell broke loose after he had gotten the shot off, he didn't get smacked around for his sloppy work. Instead, when his uncle left him behind to fend for himself, Cal and Junior nabbed him without much resistance on his part.

In their rush getaway, the rest of Decker's team didn't bother much with the cleanup. And when Vince and Zero returned to the warehouse to search for clues on their way to Haywood, they discovered a set of plans for railroad tracks that didn't belong with faded construction drawings.

"Report," Ranger ordered, crossing the threshold.

"How's Bomber?" Bobby asked, turning away from the group. He didn't think Stephanie needed his medical expertise, but couldn't hold back.

"She regained consciousness." Ranger paused, resisting a knee jerk reaction to rebuff Bobby's question, taking his time to settle in a chair at the head of the large table while figuring out how much to tell these men, who had over the years become as close to family as he would allow. Deciding to share his concern for the complications from Stephanie's extraordinary sensory ability, he added, "The four of us in close quarters was too much for her body to handle. She's agreed to stay here while she recovers."

Bobby rubbed his forehead, thinking out loud, "It's possible the severity of the reaction was caused by the timing of the exposure. It should taper off as the body adapts to the change. Aside from you, there's only one more person I know of who might be able to shed some light…" Wary of Ranger's reaction to seeking help from the woman, who was, for a lack of a better word, a wild card, he stopped, watching his friend. But when the blank face Ranger was sporting gave nothing away, he continued, "I haven't spoken to her in a few decades, but I can try tracking her down."

Tank and Lester sat at the table, listening to the exchange in silence. Both were just as concerned about Stephanie's condition as Bobby, but unlike him, neither had been comfortable in the company of Gwyneth Yates in the past. Finding her would be a challenge, but if Bobby thought it was worth a shot, they wouldn't stop him.

"Your call," Ranger said without inflection.

"I'll get on it after we nab Decker. The asshole is going down tonight."

The core team turned their attention to the plans of the railroad tracks, reviewing intel collected in the last eighteen hours to figure out when and where Decker was planning his strike.

At the morning meeting, Woody relayed a tidbit of information that had to be related to Decker's operation. While waiting to pick up his dinner at Pino's before his graveyard shift the night before, Woody ran into Eddie Gazarra who was complaining about having to put in extra overtime on Friday, as the TPD would be patrolling the stretch of railroad tracks from Trenton Transit Center to the state line from two to four in the morning.

Reaching out to his connections within a certain alphabet agency, Ranger obtained information that a shipment of gold ingots was dispatched from West Point Mint to the Headquarters via the railroad. A freight train with an extra armored car would be going through Trenton on its way from New York to Washington, D.C., running on its regular schedule, making a stop on approach to the Transit Center at three thirty four in the morning allowing the Acela Express to pass it on the way to Boston.

There was little doubt among RangeMen that Decker's score was inside the armored car, so they were going over the plans around the Transit Center inch by inch, looking for the window of opportunity the scumbag had found to carry out the heist.

"There." Ranger tapped on the screen to enlarge the sign for a railroad switch five miles north of the Transit Center. "When the switch is activated, the train heading down to the station is rerouted to the Marine Terminal. The tracks end here. And that's where they're going to hit it."

"Damn it, you're right," Bobby said, zooming in on area around the Terminal. "It's been abandoned for years."

"The tracks are shorter on this side of the fork. He'll be in and out before the TPD gets wind of the detour. I'll bet he's got a guy on the inside so the dispatch won't know anything either until it's over," Lester said, pushing back from the table, and rose from his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Then all he's got to do is stop the train in the dead end, blast through the armor..."

"The explosion would stun the guards inside." Tank cut in, nodding for Lester to go on.

"Exactly! And with a hydraulic lift, an incline ramp and a conveyor belt, he won't need more than seven minutes to unload and get down to the river. Boat at the ready, he's home free a few mil richer."

Lester shrugged under Bobby's intense stare. "What? That's how I'd run it."

"In teams of four." Tank's booming voice brought the guys out of their staring contest. He wasn't going in on the op, but he would make damn sure the takedown plan was foolproof this time around.

"Here, here, and here." Marking multiple spots on the plan, he covered the most likely site of the breach and all means of egress. "And a standby in a boat on the river."

Ranger gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. "Gear up at zero one hundred hours. Dismissed."

* * *

A/N: Zero one hundred hours – 1:00 A.M.


	7. People like us know how to survive

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thank you for working with me on this chapter. You're the best!_

* * *

**Chapter 7. People like us know how to survive**

Stephanie was topping off her coffee when an electric current surged from the top of her spine into her toes. The fingers on her right hand froze, locked on the handle of the glass coffeepot that she was tipping over the rim of her mug. The hot liquid overflowed, burning her left hand, before splashing onto the counter. Jarred from her stupor, Stephanie jumped back and dropped the mug.

"Oh, crap!" Her voice cracked, and she bit on her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Shattered pieces of porcelain scattered all over and an intensely fragrant brown puddle spread on the once pristine marble floor of the kitchen. She didn't need to look behind her to know that Tank was standing in the doorway, a witness to yet another one of '_Bombshell moments'_.

Her hope of having regained control of her body after a nap and late lunch vanished. Squeezing her eyes shut, she inhaled slowly, squelching the temptation of launching into the _'why me'_ tirade. Letting out a miserable sigh, she started reciting in her head _I will not become my mother, _like a mantra, until she was able to gain a semblance of control over her emotions. Opening her eyes, she reached for the paper towels on the counter, and then, tearing off a bunch, started mopping up the spill.

Concerned that his appearance had caused such an intense reaction, Tank cleared his throat. Bobby's idea of seeking help from Gwyneth Yates didn't seem as harebrained as it did when he had first brought it up. Watching Stephanie start cleaning up, he figured he'd given her enough time to regain her composure and said, "I'm sorry I startled you, Little Girl."

"Not your fault." She braved a glance at him, catching an oddly contrite expression on his face, as he made a move to help her. Raising her hand to stop him, she said softly, "I got it." Straightening up, she tossed out the remains of the mug and rinsed off her hands in the sink. Eager to divert Tank's attention from her mishap, she put on a happy face and said, "This coffee is amazing. I'm going to have another cup. Join me?"

He nodded, watching as she took the mugs from the top cabinet and set them on the counter to pour the coffee, and then asked, "You feelin' any better?"

Internally berating herself for nearly losing it in front of Tank, she almost dropped the pot, unprepared to hear his voice. Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his across the kitchen island. She never heard him move, yet he now stood less than three feet away. Sliding the pot back into the coffeemaker with a dull thud, she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to come up with a way to stretch the truth.

It was bad enough that Tank was stuck watching over her in Ranger's absence; she didn't want him thinking she was a basket case. Stealing another glance in his direction, she thought that trying to conceal her emotions would be futile, since he probably could read her face better than an open book. Truth it would have to be, no matter how weak it would make her sound.

"Not so much," she said, shaking her head in resignation, and handed him his mug.

His large hand closed over hers on the counter and gently squeezed her fingers before letting go. She looked up, unable to contain her surprise at the comforting gesture.

"Give yourself time, Little Girl. It'll get better." He gave her a warm smile and headed for the double doors, before waving for her to follow. "C'mon, fresh air'll do you good."

He led her through the rose garden onto the deck, overlooking the Shrewsbury River on one side and the Atlantic on the other. The sun was sinking into the ocean, its orange glow lighting up the water surface and darkening sky. Over the sound of the surf, she heard a few low clicks and turned to watch Tank light the gas fire pit in the middle of a coffee table and the torches around the deck. Then he settled his large frame over the better part of the lounger on the other side and took a sip of his coffee while she took in their surroundings.

"This view is incredible," she said softly, "but aren't we on lockdown?"

"Not that I'm aware of." He smirked, propping his feet up, and then added, "But I'd like to see someone try breaching this perimeter. Might be fun."

His idea of _fun_ didn't appeal to her, so she sunk into the cushions of a wicker chair with an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves crashing upon the shore. _Is it too much to ask for an evening of peace? I've had enough excitement to last me a few lifetimes…_ The thought brought back the anxiety over being immortal and the temporary shelter in denial land closed for business.

_Time to pull up your big girl panties, Plum, and face the music. Look, Tank's right here… and he knows things. He'll probably share if you ask him nicely. What's the worst that can happen?_

Not much of a coffee drinker, Tank was enjoying the smooth taste of the beverage while waiting for Stephanie to finish fighting one of her infamous internal battles. He caught her stealing surreptitious glances in his direction and muttering under her breath, so it was only a matter of time before she talked herself into asking him to satisfy her curiosity.

"What's on your mind? You know, you can just ask me whatever it is you want to ask me," he said, giving her what he hoped was an encouraging smile and saw her eyes widen in shock. That was fitting, considering that in the last hour she saw his smile more times than she did in the last few years.

"How did you die?" She covered her mouth at her outburst, horrified that of all the questions swirling in her head, this one popped out uncensored.

Tank's booming laugh carried over the deck, his eyes twinkling with unconcealed mirth over her reaction to her own question. _Ranger's right, our girl never disappoints._

"I'm sorry, that was rude…" She averted her eyes, unsure what to make of his reaction.

"Stop apologizing, Little Girl. It's ancient history that I don't mind sharing." He sat the mug down on the table beside him and laced his fingers together over his stomach.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Her smile lit up her entire face, as though he had just given her a precious gift, and she scooted back into her chair to listen.

"I haven't been that guy for a long time…" His tone carried a wistful note, but then a shadow crossed his face and his expression sobered.

"Before the rise of the Ottoman Empire and the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope, the city of Cairo, where I was born, was at the crossroads of spice trade routes from Asia to Europe. My father, just like his father before him, was a caravan master, running camel trains across the Sahara desert. Coming of age, every male in my family was expected to join the business. But I had little interest in being a camel puller, so instead I trained to become a guard."

The awe with which Stephanie was listening to him talk about his past was humbling. Tank picked up his mug and took a sip to hold back a smile. After all the years that he had known her, he was still astonished that she didn't have a judgmental bone in her body, which was something short of a miracle, considering she was raised in the 'Burg.

Unbidden, a fleeting thought popped into his head. _Ranger's a stubborn old fool._ But as he wasn't about to share that thought with Stephanie, he dismissed it and went back to his tale.

"By the time I turned thirty-four, I knew the desert routes better than the back of my hand and had enough money to retire. My last trip from Cairo to Tunis was also my older brother's first as the new caravan master. His ambition was to prove to our father that he could run things better than the old man, so he took on too much cargo and not nearly enough men to protect it. When ambushed about a hundred miles southwest of Tripoli, we were greatly outnumbered by the nomadic robbers and didn't stand a chance. They didn't spare anyone."

She played with the hem of her shirt, and asked, looking up, "But you made it out?"

"Didn't have much of a choice, Little Girl. After I came to, I walked."

"You walked?" she repeated in a shaky voice. "All the way home? Without food or water?"

"No, not home. I had no idea what happened to me. I was alive when I was supposed to be dead… So I went to Tripoli. En route, I learned that while dehydration was unpleasant, it couldn't kill me. But I still didn't know why."

"How'd you find out?"

"I didn't have many options. After I arrived at the port, I figured that getting the hell out of dodge was a good idea to avoid questions I didn't have answers to. Without money or anyone to turn to for help, I had to fend for myself. I was in no position to be picky, so I joined the first crew that took me. I didn't give much thought to the kind of ship I got on, too busy learning everything I could about the trade. But there was no escaping the truth when we docked on the island of Tortuga."

Figuring she'd get a kick out of his own voyage into denial land, he fell silent, his eyes twinkling with mirth, and waited for her make the connection. His patience was rewarded with her impression of a goldfish, before she sputtered, "You became a pirate?!"

A slow smile spread across his face and he nodded. As she stared at him, wide-eyed, he couldn't help thinking that even though Hollywood romanticized the image of the pirates way too much for his liking, he didn't want to tarnish it for her.

"For a few decades. The captain, who showed me the ropes and helped me accept _'who'_ I'd become in the desert, was a French privateer by the name of Francis 'the Peg Leg' Le Clerc."

"Another immortal?"

"He was… Until he met his maker, hunting the Spanish galleons around the Azores Islands."

"But I thought…"

"You don't want to know the details, Little Girl, trust me. All I'm gonna say about it is, back then, beheadin' was much more common."

She gasped softly, flushing to her roots. "I'm sorry…" Having found her filter, she thought better of asking the question that she wanted. _How did you survive? _ Asking instead, "Were you with him?"

"No, I was long out of the game, but word traveled fast, even in those days. Someone you know had made me see the error of my ways before Francis sailed up north." Unsure about giving her the details of his life as a pirate, he hesitated. After all, he had been a very different man back then…

"What happened?"

Her gentle voice interrupted his musings, making him realize that he wasn't going to sugarcoat the past. "Pillaging and burning down buildings wasn't my thing, so when I got good enough to command a crew of my own, I steered away from ransacking the Caribbean ports. Raiding the Spanish galleons at sea was another matter entirely. During one of those raids, when Francis was busy plundering the settlements along the coast of Panama, I went after a galleon that I thought had separated from a treasure fleet. It turned out to be a decoy full of well trained and armed men, who were charged by the Spanish Monarchs to protect the colonies from repeated looting.

The captain on that galleon, faithfully serving the Crown in ridding the islands of piracy by dishing out his own brand of justice, was none other than the man now known as Ranger. He gave me an option of joining his crew, and I figured it was better than walking the plank. Immortal or not, once the shark gets you..."

"Taaank," she whined, scrunching up her face in disgust. Last thing she wanted to think about was his becoming fish food. But then her mind rewound what he had said, his recollection of events didn't mesh well with the story she had heard from Ranger the previous night. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "How the hell did he get back to Spain? He told me, he couldn't."

"Carlos Francisco de Mendoza sure couldn't, but his great nephew, Juan Carlos Mañoso, could. Creating a new identity then wasn't as difficult as it is now."

"Oh, right. Duh."

She studied her hands in her lap. Her nails were in need of a manicure – the polish had seen better days and the cuticles were a bit rough – though, in the grand scheme of things, she supposed it wasn't all that important.

While she wasn't entirely comfortable prying into Tank's private life, until he told her to butt out, she couldn't stop herself. Finally finding courage to meet his eyes, she looked up. "If you could take any name, why choose _Pierre_? Not like you ever use it."

"A token reminder of Francis. He was one mean mother fucker with a twisted moral code, but he took me in and gave me a name to call my own. Since then, I've always been Pierre Baptiste Arnaud, or a variation thereof. I just change the birth date every couple of decades."

"But how?"

"Fairly common name down in Louisiana." He gave her a noncommittal shrug. "And Hector is a really good with computers."

She chewed on her bottom lip, brushing off imaginary lint from the leg of her jeans, "I guess that's something for me to think about."

"Not right now. Other than the core team, no one knows what happened in that parking lot. If you stay in Trenton, you have at least another decade, without anyone being none the wiser."

She sighed, leaving decisions about her future for another day, seeking refuge in denial land once again. There was no reason to dwell on it tonight when it could wait until tomorrow.

"So Hector is…" Stumbling over the word _'immortal'_, she didn't have to continue, because Tank answered the unfinished question with a slight smirk.

"No, he isn't, as far as I know. Just the core team. Although, you might be in a better position to fill me in, after you see the rest of the guys yourself."

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. "What? How?"

"Ranger thinks your ability to sense immortals is better than his." Tank gave her a meaningful look, and she picked up what he had left unsaid. _Ranger can sense immortals before they've gone through the change. That means so can you._

"Oh. Right." She fidgeted in the chair. _Maybe now I have ESP too._"But if I wanted a new identity, Hector could help me?"

"C'mon, Little Girl. You know better than that!" He was about to say something else when his phone buzzed. Maritza was on the line, asking if they were ready for dinner.


	8. The dangers of our second guessing

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thank you for being the most amazing beta. I'm really lucky to have you working with me on this story._

_Mea culpa for posting this chapter a few days late, I hate when real life gets in the way of my fanfiction addiction, but sadly, sometimes it's unavoidable. Thank you for hanging in there and for your wonderful reviews and pm's. I really appreciate the time you take to share your comments with me._

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**Chapter 8. The dangers of our second guessing**

"Switch activated." Cal's low voice broke the silence in every earpiece of the takedown team. Then, after a faint noise of a scuffle and a thump of a locking truck door, Junior came on the air, "We got him."

"Standby for TPD," Ranger said into his headset, glancing down at his watch. It was three fourteen in the morning. The op was progressing according to Lester's timeline. Cal and Junior apprehended the man, who tripped the railroad switch to reroute the train to the tracks leading to the Marine Terminal. The remaining RangeMan takedown teams were in position, waiting for Decker and his men to show.

There was only one variable in Lester's plan that kept bothering Ranger: the cargo could be unloaded off the train either into a warehouse next to the tracks or moved through the terminal building to the river. Unwilling to give Decker a chance to slip through their fingers again, Ranger had doubled the number of men involved in the op. Between Lorenzo's injury at the first takedown and Stephanie's capture at the second, Ranger had allowed the goal to nab Decker become personal. And that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, if it wasn't that distracting… From the moment he had stepped inside the terminal building, he had trouble maintaining his focus, unable to put his finger on what felt off about the job.

Shrugging off the grim feeling, he took a deep breath to clear his head and peered into the darkness outside. His eyes were roaming the warehouse across the access road, when Binkie's voice interrupted his mental assessment of the situation.

"Confirming visual. All four subjects accounted for. Target's in a black Chevy Blazer. The second vehicle's a dark green Dodge Ram. Both pulled off the ramp and are heading your way. ETA three minutes out."

"Copy that," Hal responded from the warehouse. "Team two in position."

Ranger's gaze locked on the farthest point of the access road, visible from his position, until the vehicles came into his view. Rolling along the road, the two trucks stopped at the warehouse, keeping the headlights off and the engines idling, while the men inside waited for the train.

At three twenty, the distinctive sound of clanking metal in the distance had Decker's men bolting from their trucks, setting up for the ambush of the fast approaching train.

The couplings banging against each other between the freight cars rattled loudly as the train screeched to a halt at the warehouse. The armored car with the coveted cargo stopped next to the terminal building, as the head of the train cut off Ranger and his team from the action.

All Decker's men were at the side of the train in the matter of seconds. The driver of the Dodge sealed the explosives around the armored door and then rushed back to his vehicle.

"Team two, you're a _'go'_," Ranger ordered into his headset.

"Affirmative," came Hal's curt response.

The sound of the blast wasn't too loud, but the door flew off the side of the train and the distinctive smell of burned explosive filled the air. After the dust settled, Decker's men started lining up equipment to unload the cargo, and the man himself strode from the truck to the gaping hole in the side of the train car. The light flashed from the top of the warehouse, flooding the area and blinding the thugs.

"Move! Move! Move!" Ranger shouted, watching Hal, Manny, Vince, and Zero scatter from the warehouse to apprehend the targets. And as the team was cuffing the men on the ground, Ranger saw that Decker was no longer among them.

Scanning the area around the train, he spotted Decker slithering between the cars to make a break for the terminal building, just as they had predicted during the briefing. With Ram covering them with a sniper rifle from the second floor and Lester at the back door, Ranger and Bobby were waiting for the scumbag at the entrance. They were hidden from his view by the large stack of crates and ready to box him in. Ranger raised his hand to catch Bobby's attention, before pointing to the front of the warehouse. Bobby nodded, clicking the safety off his gun.

Decker slipped inside and plastered his back against the wall by the door, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. Satisfied with his survey of the space, he pushed away from the wall and, glancing over his shoulder, started creeping toward the reinforced glass on the other side and the door that lead into the back hallway. As they expected, the bastard had done his homework, having learned the building blueprint.

Decker was steps away from the glass, when Bobby sidestepped the crates and shouted, "Freeze!"

With his gun trained on Decker's back, Bobby felt the rush of adrenalin – the asshole finally had nowhere to run – they would settle the score for Lorenzo's injury one way or another. His guard was down for just a split second, but it was enough for Decker to turn around, kneeling, and fire off a shot. Bobby's gun fell from his grasp, hitting the concrete only a moment before Bobby himself collapsed onto the floor.

With a sinking feeling in a pit of his stomach, Ranger darted around the crates in time to see Bobby take the fall. Midstride, Ranger caught a deranged grimace of satisfaction that flashed on Decker's face and released the trigger. The bullet from his gun ripped through Decker's chest and the glass wall behind him. The force of the impact sent Decker careening backward. He was still alive, when he fell on top of the broken glass, his eyes widening as the sharp edge separated from the top frame.

The large shard came crashing down, finishing the job the bullet had started. With a final twitch, the severed head rolled away from the body and down the hallway, coming to a stop at Ram's feet, its hollow eyes staring up, unseeing the slab of the raw ceiling.

The sound of sirens outside announced the arrival of TPD. With Carl and Big Dog hot on his heels, Joe Morelli burst through the doors of the building, finding Lester Santos on his knees next to Bobby Brown's prone form, attempting resuscitation. Squatting down by Lester's side, Joe holstered his weapon and reached out to feel for Bobby's pulse. Rising up, he shook his head at Carl, who had been calling the bus, and then gave Lester's shoulder a firm squeeze.

"I'm sorry, man." A muscle in Joe's jaw twitched, before he could force out the rest of his words. "There's nothing you can do for Brown anymore. You need to step away. I've gotta secure the scene. C.S.I.'s five minutes out."

Lester looked up, shaking Joe's hand off his shoulder as his eyes flashed with anger, before he felt Ranger join them.

Having finished making arrangements with the Feds to pick up Decker's body, Ranger acknowledged Joe with a curt nod and pulled Lester aside to break up a likely confrontation. After a quiet but terse exchange between the two men, Lester squared his shoulders and headed for the door, leaving Ranger standing next to Brown's body.

"Santos! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Joe yelled at Lester's retreating back, but the man disappeared outside without a backward glance.

Annoyed by the lack of response, Joe turned his angry glare on Ranger. "What the fuck?"

Appearing unfazed by the blatant display of Joe's attitude, Ranger's blank face betrayed no emotion, but his voice was rough as he ground the words through his clenched teeth. "Santos didn't fire his gun tonight. He was at the back door and saw nothing. You'll get his statement later."

"Damn it, Mañoso. You know that's against protocol."

"Fuck protocol, Morelli. His partner's dead. He gets a break. The rest of my men are available for questioning."

"Make sure he shows at the department today. My ass doesn't look good in a sling." Joe's words were harsh, but the tone carried no heat, resigned not to fight Ranger on this. Losing a partner in the line of duty wasn't an experience Joe ever wanted to go through himself, but he'd seen it one time too many not to empathize with Santos. He ran his hand through his hair and stomped off, muttering, "What a fucking mess…"

Meanwhile, the crime scene investigators finished processing the scene, allowing two transport guys from the Mercer County medical examiner's office to load up the body bag onto a stretcher. As soon as they were inside their vehicle, Ranger made a call. Taking care not to be overheard, he spoke softly.

"Twenty nine minutes." He fell silent, listening for a few beats, and hung up without uttering another word, before stepping out of the terminal building to deal with the TPD.

* * *

Bobby opened his eyes and immediately squeezed them shut to block out the blinding industrial light. His ass felt colder than ice and something was pinching his big toe. He opened his eyes again and sat up with a muttered curse, just in time to catch a thin white sheet that had started sliding off his stark naked body. Ripping a tag off his foot, he stared at his name and then hopped off the table to wrap the sheet around his waist.

The time to contemplate what had happened during the takedown to land him in a morgue of the Mercer County medical examiner's office was a luxury he didn't have. There were matters that were more pressing to attend to, such as finding some clothes and getting the hell out of dodge, preferably before making an acquaintance with the M.E., pulling the graveyard shift.

Slipping from the morgue, Bobby found his way into a locker-room where he borrowed a pair of dark blue scrubs, a do-rag, and a pair of black clogs. The pants were too short, the shirt was too tight, the clogs were too narrow, and the do-rag took the cake with its _cute_ Scottie print, but he was too focused on getting out of the building to pay attention to the minor discomforts caused by his attire.

Cracking open the door to the stairs leading to the emergency exit, he surveyed the likely positions for security cameras and, much to his relief, found none. _As if they have to worry about cadavers making a break for it,_ he thought, sneaking into the a step down at a time to avoid making a sound, he kept his head down and his hands to himself, careful not to leave prints or any other evidence of his escape for the cops to find. Reaching the first floor, he pushed the exit bar on the door with his hip and slipped away from the building.

A black Explorer in the parking lot flashed its headlights, and Bobby broke into a jog. Jerking open the front door, he hopped into the front seat.

"Niiice!" Lester said, checking out his partner's getup.

"Shut up, Santos!" Bobby barked, ripping the do-rag off this head. "And drive."

Casting a final look at the building, he couldn't hold back an expletive. "Fucking A!" A security camera was right over the door he had exited seconds earlier.

"You wound me, bro," Lester said with a smirk, pulling out of the lot. "That piece of shit was child's play."

"Yeah, well, your sorry ass didn't just wake up on a slab, did it? The damn thing was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!" Bobby glared at Lester, lacking the mood to entertain his partner's ubiquitously flippant attitude.

It wasn't that he blamed Lester for the debacle that landed him on the autopsy table, but he didn't like that his life had spun out of control. Even though he had considered leaving Trenton for a while, having his hand forced was less than ideal, as taking off on his terms was no longer a viable option. Seeing Lester's sobered expression, Bobby shook his head, stopping his partner from uttering an apology that was unwarranted. "Forget it, bro. Tell me what happened."

"Morelli," Lester said, his tone remorseful. "The TPD swarmed the scene moments after you went down. I thought that if I attempted CPR, I could buy enough time to get you out. But Morelli ID'ed you on the spot and called it." He shook his head in disgust, never taking his eyes off the road. "Last I checked that jackass didn't have an M.D. Where does he get off…"

Bobby stopped Lester's diatribe, "Morelli's a good cop. He was just doing his job." To make the best of his situation, Bobby needed Lester to stop steaming over Morelli's sticking to procedure and focus on more practical matters, such as his imminent departure from Trenton. "My go-bag?"

Lester stopped at a red light at the Upper Ferry Road, and jerked his chin back. "On the floorboards, behind the seat. ETA three minutes."

"A'aight." Bobby unbuckled his seatbelt, before climbing into the back to change.

In the predawn hours, the parking lot at the Trenton-Mercer Airport was empty, but for a few cars of the night crew. Cutting across the service road, Lester pulled into a private hangar and killed the engine. A mechanic was running though a routine pre-flight check on a small corporate jet, getting it ready for takeoff. Leaving the truck parked in the hangar, Bobby and Lester made their way into the cockpit and were taxiing down the runway fifteen minutes after their arrival at the airport.


	9. What I've felt, what I've known

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thank you for being the most amazing beta. I'm really lucky to have you working with me on this story._

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**Chapter 9. What I've felt, what I've known, never shined through in what I've shown**

After squaring things away with TPD at the scene and debriefing the takedown team at Haywood, Ranger left Woody in charge of the control room. Making it downstairs in record time, he got into the Turbo, gunned the engine, and tore out of the garage, burning rubber. In minutes, he was outside of Trenton city limits, and then on the interstate, speeding toward Rumson.

On the outside, he must have appeared the epitome of control, deep in what Steph called his _'driving zone'_, but inside, without her to anchor him, he felt restless. At the predawn hour, the few cars heading east alongside him cleared out of his way, and he passed them without slowing down, his mind going as fast as his car.

_The things I've seen… done. The remains of dark memories, long forgotten. The faces of fallen brothers-in-arms and annihilated foes, erased by the time that's passed. Years, decades, and centuries slipped between my fingers, as grains of sand fall through the pinhole of an hourglass. And yet, nothing's changed except for the sound of a battle – the rapid staccato of machine gun fire replaced the clang of metal swords – the end is still the same… for mortals and immortals alike._

_I should be used to this... this numbness that never fails to rear its ugly head after the adrenalin crash. I thought I was… But then this emptiness is new. Just as the stupor. And yet, I should be used to it…_

Ranger rubbed his right temple in a failed attempt to clear his head, before returning his hand to grip the steering wheel.

_The difference between life and death. All it takes – a split second – for the light to fade into the darkness. A fleeting moment. And if you're lucky, when life as you know it comes to an abrupt halt, you dust yourself off and move on, leaving everything behind. But if you aren't, it's the end of the line._

He swore a blue streak, his fist striking the wheel in frustration, grazing the audio controls. As the violent chords of the Second Movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony filled the tight confines of the car, drowning out the last words of his raw diatribe, he slammed down the accelerator and, even though he didn't mean to turn on the music, allowed it to block the disjointed thoughts that plagued his mind since he had left the Haywood building.

Forty minutes later, he eased off the gas to pass through the tolls off the Garden State Parkway, lowered the volume on the speaker system, and drove the familiar route to the house at a tamer speed. At last, his mind was blissfully blank, and he was relieved to feel just the bone-deep exhaustion. By the time he pulled into the garage, he had been awake for more than twenty-six hours and was ready to crash.

Tank was drinking orange juice at the breakfast bar after his morning workout, when Ranger strode into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. After talking to Stephanie last night, the big man was disappointed in his friend for glossing over a few details about the changes her body had gone through, not to mention the dangers of being sensed by other immortals.

Despite often deferring to Ranger's judgment, he had no problem facing off with him when the issue warranted it. This was one of those times – Stephanie had to learn the truth – her life depended on it. But taking in Ranger's heavy gait, Tank decided that no matter how much his fists itched to let his displeasure to be known, handing Ranger his ass when his reserves were nearly depleted, no matter how well deserved, wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Even if he hadn't heard from Bobby earlier that morning, the deep lines etched into Ranger's tired face would have told Tank that the takedown had gone FUBAR. And from the fallout, many issues had to be dealt with, yet none were so important that they couldn't wait a few hours, while Ranger got some sleep. Though, knowing the boss as well as he did, Tank didn't expect him to give in to the demands of his body until he had all the information he needed to feel in control of the situation.

Watching him twist the cap off the water bottle and drain it, Tank waited until he had Ranger's undivided attention. Preempting the demand to report, he said, "Santos is en route back to Trenton. Brown checked in from Toronto. Will be off the grid for a few weeks, and then he'll start looking for Gwyneth."

Leaning his hip against the bar, Ranger crumpled the bottle and tossed it into the trash. "Have Rodriguez run her assets."

"Already done," Tank said, looking as though he wanted to roll his eyes, but instead, set the empty glass he'd been holding on the bar in one slow, measured motion and folded his arms across his massive chest.

Ranger cocked an eyebrow at Tank, waiting for him to continue. Spending time with Stephanie had obviously rubbed off on his friend. But when he didn't say anything else, Ranger jerked his chin, irritated by having to ask for more information. "And?"

"_Nada_. Either she changed her name, or she's damn good at this game." Tank paused to ensure Ranger would pick up on the significance of what he was about to say. "I talked to Hector. His '_idea'_ might take a few days."

Ranger nodded, reminded once again that Tank was his second in command for a reason – a major takedown didn't take his focus away from the big picture – RangeMan continued running like clockwork without personal involvement from either of them. And Ranger wouldn't have handled the assignments any differently: when Rodriguez came up empty in his search, he too would have gone to Hector next. If there was anything to be found about Gwyneth Yates without leaving the Trenton office, Hector was the man for the job. But even then Ranger had his doubts that the electronics genius would have better luck in aiding Bobby in finding Gwyneth, for the woman had mastered the art of hiding in plain sight long before either he or Tank gave it a second thought.

Considering the conversation finished, Ranger was going to head upstairs for a few hours of shuteye, when a dark look that crossed Tank's face stopped him. His friend still had something to say, yet was waiting for him to broach the subject. On a hunch, he asked, "How's Stephanie?"

_Gotcha, _Tank thought, a barely there smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "Lil' girl couldn't keep her eyes open past nine last night, and is still out cold."

Unbidden, a thought flashed in Ranger's mind, making his lips twitch with a hint of a smile, _my babe loves her sleep._ But just as quickly it was replaced with a niggling feeling that this conversation was about to take a turn that he wouldn't like_._

"Bored her with the tales of the good ol' days, big guy?"

Undeterred by his friend's attempt at goading him, Tank said, "Yeah, that." He skipped a beat and added, "Glass of wine at dinner. For some reason, she still thinks she's a lightweight…"

"I know," Ranger said with an edge to his voice.

The unspoken demand to drop the subject hung heavy in the air between them, but it took more than a few terse words to stop Tank from speaking his mind. Splaying his large hands on the granite top of the bar, he gave Ranger a stern look.

"And? You planin' to explain things to her?"

Seeing that Tank wouldn't budge, Ranger rolled his shoulders, thinking of an answer that would get his friend off his back. When Tank felt strongly enough about something, he was relentless, pushing the issue until he was satisfied with the outcome. And at that moment, Ranger wanted nothing more than to shelf it until he could think straight, or, better yet, move it to the mats. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and gritted through his teeth, "I haven't decided yet."

"Well, don't take too long. I, for one, have no intention of keeping her in the dark. So, if you don't fill her in, I will." Tank pushed off the bar and turned to leave the kitchen, tossing a parting jab over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought. "You look like shit, man. Get some sleep."

Making it upstairs, Ranger was tempted to walk into Stephanie's room, toss his utility belt on the floor, and climb into bed beside her. But what kind of message would he send if she awoke to find him sleeping there? He'd already complicated their relationship so much that it was a wonder Stephanie was still speaking to him. Their last night of passion was no exception, joining a long list of regrets that started tallying up, after he'd released her from the cuffs hooked onto the shower rod in her apartment.

As dwelling on the past ran contrary to his character, as a rule, he learned from his mistakes and moved on. When he saw that his confession that he couldn't offer her the life she deserved had caused her pain, he swore to put distance between them so that she could find happiness elsewhere. But the following twenty four hours made him question the wisdom behind that choice, because going through losing her wasn't something he was eager to relive. And as much as it went against his long standing conviction that he had no need for emotional attachments, he didn't want to see the day when she would reach the end of her rope and cut him out of her life for good. He hoped that he wasn't too late.

Reflecting on the snippets of his conversation with Tank, Ranger realized that his best friend had been right: he owed it to Stephanie to try opening up. It was a damn shame that he didn't know how and with Tank's ultimatum, didn't have much time to learn. If he failed to step up to the plate, Tank wouldn't hesitate to make good on his promise. But since he usually told Stephanie more than he'd intended even when he was at the top of his game, he couldn't risk talking to her when he was this tired. Their talk would have to wait until he had time to regroup. Unwilling to sacrifice his chance to repair their friendship for the selfish desire to hold her in his arms, he passed her room without a sound.

* * *

Groaning loudly, Stephanie lifted her head off the pillow and grabbed the phone off the night stand just as Jon Bon Jovi finished the first verse of _Keep the Faith_. Almost before she got a word in, the shrill voice of her mother filled the room.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, this is your mother! Why didn't you return any of my calls? I left message after message yesterday! You're coming to dinner tonight?"

"Mom…" she tried to edge a word into her mother's endless tirade but had little success.

"We're having roast chicken. And pineapple upside down cake."

"Mom?" Stephanie repeated a bit more forcefully, but Helen Plum was on a roll.

"You know, you can bring that young man you're _friends_ with to dinner. Ranger, is it? I'll set another place at the table…"

Even if Stephanie couldn't help wondering what had caused such a change in Helen Plum's attitude toward Ranger, she did her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach that took flight when her Mother put special emphasis on the word 'friends', and bellowed, "Mom!"

"Don't you yell at me, young lady! If you have something to say, say it."

Stephanie suppressed a sigh; apparently, Helen Plum's good graces didn't extend to her youngest daughter. "Mom, I'm out of town. I don't know when I'll be back."

"What do you mean you don't know when you'll be back? Margie Antonelli's daughter…"

Stephanie cut her off, "Yes, Mom, I know. Lori Antonelli never leaves town without letting her mother know. But I'm not Lori, I'm me. And I wish you'd stop comparing me to every unmarried female under forty, living in the 'Burg." She didn't know where she got the nerve to say what had been on her mind for years, but voicing it made her feel so exhilarated that she almost missed her mother's next words.

"Stephanie, I only want what's best for you. You don't want to hear it? Fine. I won't say anything again."

"If I should be so lucky," Stephanie muttered under her breath, as Helen sighed loudly, and then carried on as if she didn't just tell her daughter that she was washing her hands of her future.

"I ran into Stella Lombardi at Giorvichinni's this morning and heard the most troublesome news. Her cousin Evelyn Bianchi lives next door to Maureen Romano. Maureen's son works the night shift at the Medical Examiner's office in Ewing. And he told her," her mother lowered her voice, "that a body vanished from the morgue last night. Can you believe that?"

As soon as Stephanie's sleep-addled brain processed what her Mother had said, a hinky feeling formed in the pit of her stomach, and her thoughts jumped to Ranger's takedown from the night before. She had to get off the phone and find him.

"Okay, Mom. Gotta go. Call you later. Bye!"

Disconnecting the call without waiting for a response, Stephanie tossed her phone on the bed and hopped into the shower. Rushing through her morning routine, she pulled her hair into a messy ponytail and, forgoing all makeup but two coats of mascara for courage, got dressed, before darting down the stairs.

It was nearing eleven in the morning, but unlike the day before, the kitchen was deserted. Stephanie searched the entire first floor for either Ranger or Tank to no avail, even though she could tell from the electric charge running along her spine that both men were somewhere in the house. She wasn't sure how she knew that this particular sensation was caused by the presence of them both, but since the feeling was akin to her spidey sense, which had yet to fail her, she didn't question it.

Distracted by deciphering the signals her body was sending, she wandered back into the kitchen, only then noticing a post-it note on the oven door, a basket of blueberry muffins on the counter and a full coffee pot on the bar. Her stomach let out a loud rumble, and she figured that following up on a 'Burg rumor could wait until after she finished the most important meal of the day.

_Who's going to argue with Maritza, if she wants to spoil me? Not I, that's for sure!_ Stephanie thought, pulling out a plateful of cheese blintzes with homemade strawberry syrup from the oven and pouring coffee into a white porcelain mug.

Deciding to eat outside, she loaded up a serving tray with her breakfast and strolled out onto the patio. Settling in the same wicker chair as the previous afternoon, she savored her breakfast and basked in the warm rays of the late summer sun. Gentle wind ruffled her hair, and for the first time in days, she felt completely at ease, certain that even though nothing in her life made sense anymore, eventually it would all work out. Listening to the sound of the ocean surf, she finished her food and, after lingering for a little longer over coffee, took her tray back into the kitchen.

She was crossing the foyer, when her gaze fell on Ranger's suit of armor. It seemed different than it did the day before, and it took her a moment to realize what had caught her attention. The longsword was missing. Acting on her intuition, she let her legs carry her over to the fireplace and pushed the candelabra on the mantel.

Descending the familiar staircase, she felt a bit like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole, uncertain about what awaited downstairs. It was one thing to tag along with Lester, when his presence was expected, and quite another to sneak in uninvited. Although, Ranger probably already knew that she was making her way down there; he wasn't Batman for nothing.

Before she could talk herself out of moving forward, she found herself at the bottom of the steps. Now that she wasn't on the verge of blacking out, she decided to take her time exploring the basement. Just as she remembered, a smaller version of the control room and a conference room were on her left, both now dark and empty, and to her right were two closed wooden doors.

When she pushed the first door that she half expected to be locked, she was momentarily blinded by the flash from the bright industrial lights. _Damn sensors!_ The state of the art medical suite had to be Bobby's domain: every gleaming piece of equipment was spotless and the cabinets were meticulously labeled. Turning around, she left the large room, telling herself that she was contaminating the sterile environment.

Thinking that the second door couldn't lead anywhere much more interesting than the first, she walked inside just to make sure she wouldn't miss anything. She had to stifle a gasp, when, instead of a room, she found another spiral downward staircase. Gripping the railing and taking deep slow breaths, she kept to the widest side of the steps. Concerned about not tripping over her feet, she didn't pay attention to anything around her until she made it all the way down. Her eyes widened, as she took in the space at the bottom of the stairs.

The dark wood paneled walls held dozens of tall narrow cages, housing swords and daggers. She was no connoisseur of edged weapons, but even she could tell that this was not a collection, but an armory. Having learned her lesson with Ranger's sword upstairs, she was careful not to touch the blades as she ran her fingers over the cold intricate ironwork. And when she stopped in the center of the room, curious why he'd keep so many weapons down there, she heard a clang of metal against metal. Looking for the source of the sound, she noticed a door behind a large glass case of shields.

Cracking the door open, she found herself in another hallway, lit with dim filament lamps. Turning the corner, she walked into a space with vaulted ceilings that had to be at least twelve feet tall, supported with arches of dark wood, topping black steel pillars. Antique round bronze chandeliers were suspended off long chains, their soft glow casting shadows on exposed brick walls. But it was the sight of two men in black, circling each other in the middle of the floor, that made her lean against the column for support.

If not for the swords, their graceful footwork could be easily mistaken for a dance. But the missing longsword was in Ranger's hand, and Tank was armed with a cutlass and a dagger. Since neither appeared to be aware of her presence, she stayed rooted in her spot, enthralled by their swift movements, and tried not to draw attention to herself. When they lunged at each other, she sucked in a breath and gripped the handle of her mug to keep quiet.

The swords crossed with a loud clank. Pushing against Ranger's longsword, Tank took a step back, breaking the contact between them to swing the cutlass, slicing through the air with a swish. Ranger blocked the assault, but left himself open for Tank's dagger. When it landed on his clavicle, precariously close to his throat, Tank taunted, "Step up your game, old geezer, moving slow gets you dead."

With a grunt, Ranger leaned back and thrust his blade up with a crushing blow that Tank blocked with both of his.

"Who're you calling old, cabron?" Ranger sidestepped the larger man and struck again. This time, Tank parried and twisted his body to bring his sword down in a sweeping arch. Ranger leaped up in place, switched hands and thrust the sword through Tank's shoulder, as Tank's dagger sliced across his chest. Before either had a chance to return to their original positions, a loud shriek and a sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the vast space.

Frozen, Stephanie was leaning against the pillar and trying to catch her breath. The remains of white porcelain lay scattered at her feet. Taking in her horror-stricken face, Ranger tossed his sword to Tank and rushed over to her side. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, he leaned in and asked softly, "You okay there, Babe?"

Coming out of her stupor, she nodded, staring at his chest, and saw a tear in his protective gear that took the brunt of the assault with the sharp blade. And as Tank approached them, carrying the weapons in his leather-gloved hand, she noticed a few fibers sticking out from a rip in the padding over his shoulder. Once the realization dawned that she had just witnessed the guys blowing off steam rather than engaging in a _'real'_ sword fight, she hesitantly met Ranger's gaze. And as the concern in his dark eyes shifted into a twinkle of amusement, she broke their eye contact, embarrassed for jumping to conclusions and making a fool of herself, yet again.

Studying the pattern of the dark parquet, she said in a small voice, "Sorry. I keep breaking your china."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Ranger pulled her toward the back hallway, she'd emerged from earlier. "C'mon, let's get you a fresh cup of coffee and then we can talk."


	10. It's hard for me to say I'm sorry

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. _

___Christibabe, Merciki, and RangerLuv2, thank you for helping me beat writer's block._

_Highlands Girl, thank you for being the most amazing beta. I couldn't have finished this chapter without your gentle encouragement, eye for detail, and incredible editing skills.  
_

_Thank you for all your private messages, reviews and alerts, it means a lot to know that you guys are still reading. __I'm sorry for missing a week of posting. Sadly, it might turn into a more regular occurrence, as the updates are now 'live', meaning that all chapters that I've pre-written before posting have been uploaded. I hope you bear with my intermittent updates and continue following Ranger and Steph on their journey to Happily Ever After._  


* * *

**Chapter 10. It's hard for me to say I'm sorry**

The steam was rising up from a mug of fresh coffee, abandoned on the side table next to the suit of armor. After Ranger slid the sword back into its place, Stephanie was drawn to it like a moss to a flame. Standing stock-still in front of the stand and gnawing on her lower lip, she was staring at the blade.

Since Tank had gone back to Haywood shortly after they had come up from the basement, and Ranger headed upstairs to take a shower, Stephanie was once again left to her own devices. And rather than guess what Ranger wanted to tell her, she tried to imagine what it would feel like to wield this kind of weapon. As always, her curiosity trumped caution, and with a moment's hesitation, she reached for the weathered leather-wrapped grip and pulled.

The blade slid from its place, jerking down her right hand, and would have crashed to the floor, if she didn't grab the guard with her left. After watching the guys handling their swords with such grace, she wasn't expecting the steel to be quite this heavy. Giving herself a few minutes to get used to the weight of the sword, Stephanie lifted it over her head to swing down, imitating the arch that Tank had performed with effortless finesse earlier. As it turned out, the maneuver wasn't as easy to manage as it looked.

Letting out a sigh, she was about to lower the blade, when she felt a surge of electricity at the back of her neck and felt Ranger enter the room. The next thing she knew, two strong arms encircled her.

Ranger eased her left hand off the guard and slid her right hand below the pommel, adjusting her grip on the hilt. "It's all in the wrist, Babe."

The sound of his voice was hypnotic, and his warm breath sent shivers down her spine, which had nothing to do with her body's newfound abilities and everything with her raging hormones.

"Want me to show you?" he asked, relishing in the effect his softly spoken words had on the woman in his arms. Wanting to savor a few precious seconds of holding her close, he didn't wait for her answer. With a flourish, he swung the sword up and to the left, forcing her body to follow his lithe movement forward.

As they were pressed together as one, Stephanie gave herself a mental shake. _Stephanie Michelle Plum, focus on the sharp sword in your hands, not the hard body at your back._

Feeling a slight vibration from the restrained laughter in his chest, she stiffened in his arms, hating that she was amusing him again and, without realizing it, spoke her next thought out loud.

"This shit is getting old. Is it too much to ask to be taken seriously, for once?"

The words she never intended for him to hear and the tongue lashing she'd given him before slamming the door of his apartment the other morning convinced him that his flippant remark to lighten the mood during the Junkman fiasco left a deeper scar than he'd originally thought. At the time, he couldn't come up with a better way to ease the mounting guilt she was feeling over his bleeding money for her safety than tell her that she was an entertainment line item in the RangeMan budget. As the comment kept coming back to bite him in the ass, time and time again, he realized that it had been the wrong thing to say, regardless of the intent behind it. And he had a long way to go in atonement for the heartache his words had caused her over the years.

Before Tank showed up downstairs to challenge him to a sword fight, Ranger had had some time to think, working through his usual training routine. Between lunges, he pledged to come clean to Stephanie about his reason for having kept her at arm's length. But now that they were face to face, starting the conversation wasn't as easy as it'd been in his head. He'd never been any good at making amends or asking for forgiveness, and found the thought of laying his heart bare downright terrifying, even if he refused to admit it, but for any hope to repair their friendship, that was a place to start.

"Babe." He let regret seep into the tone of his voice. "Are you ever going to let me live it down?"

He lowered their joined hands and, taking the sword from her grasp, slid it back onto the stand. Snaking his now free hand around her waist, he gently turned her around so that he could see her eyes. They were bright with unshed tears, and he chided himself inwardly for failing to hold back his laugh, when he knew that his ability to tell what she was thinking by watching her expressive face and body language bothered her.

Letting his gaze travel down to her lips, he had to fight the urge to kiss her. Well aware of her responsiveness to his affections, he felt it'd be the wrong thing to do, because she'd misinterpret it later, when she regurgitated their conversation in her head over and over again, as he knew she would. So instead, he gathered her close to his chest and cleared his throat.

"Steph, the truth is… my life is rarely worth smiling about. But you never fail to make me laugh... make me feel… and want things I've long given up. And I've come to the conclusion that it's not a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing?" Her voice rose, as she struggled to break from his embrace. The arrogance of this man was mind boggling, and she was going to let him know exactly how it made her feel, when he ghosted his index finger over her lips, effectively shushing her. The disbelief in her tone told him that his words reignited her anger, and he'd have to pull out all the stops for her to hear him out.

"Stephanie. Listen. Please." Running his knuckles over her cheek, he lowered his voice, "I've said things to you I never should have. But I'm not infallible, I make mistakes. I'm only human."

"Things? What things?" she said under her breath, as though talking to herself. "I need a freaking dictionary to interpret Ranger-speak."

"Babe."

The resentment that had started to dissipate returned tenfold. She would have been distracted by his megawatt grin that made women walk into walls, if his single word answers didn't drive her as bat shit crazy as his irritating habit of leaving things unsaid. Determined to never put up with either, ever again, she pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Nu-huh. I've had enough of your cryptic bullshit. You want me to know something? Don't expect me to figure it out. Either tell me exactly what you mean or don't bother at all."

Prepared for the fiery onslaught of her temper, he kept a tight leash on his own. After everything she'd heard from him, he supposed he deserved her anger and was willing to wait until she got out of her system, so that they could have a rational conversation afterward. He had a great deal to tell her and suspected that she'd balk after learning about the sword of Damocles that was now hanging over her head.

"Got it?" Glaring at him, she poked his chest with her index finger.

Shaking off his dark thoughts, he let his gaze slowly travel down to the spot where her newly painted nail was still digging into his shirt and caught her digit between his. Then, he looked back up and, as their eyes locked, lifted her finger to his lips, nipping it at the tip. When his teeth scraped her flesh, she trembled. Without breaking the eye contact, he released her with a blinding smile and a slight nod of agreement. Even though she had no way of knowing, he'd already decided to be more open with her, thinking it would go a long way toward rebuilding their relationship.

Recovered her ability to think, after the shock from his gesture had ebbed, she recognized the action for what it was: an attempt to divert her attention away from the subject he didn't want to discuss. But it wasn't going to work on her this time, as she intended to get all the answers she needed.

"Okay." She sighed. "Then what you told me about commitment the other day? Was it one of the _'things'_ you should never have said?"

"Yes. And no," he said, suddenly looking ill at ease. The question wasn't unexpected, but it took him aback by being the first one out of her mouth, thereby forcing their talk to take a decidedly more serious tone. Wary of botching up this attempt to close the distance he'd put between them, he fell silent, bracing himself for a long conversation with no holds barred.

"C'mere." He tugged her to the leather couch across from the fireplace, and, despite her earlier reservations, she followed willingly, offering no resistance. Settling in the corner, he tucked her into his side and dropped a kiss to the top of her head to buy himself a few seconds to gather his thoughts. A whiff of vanilla in her hair distracted him, and the grip he had around her shoulders tightened on its own.

Resisting the temptation to get caught up in the sensations caused by his touch, Stephanie scooted back a little and turned to look at him, expecting him to continue, but he kept silent. There was something different about him today: not only was the blank mask conspicuously absent, but his face bore an expression which on anyone else she would have called wistful. And because she'd learned more about this complicated man in the last forty-eight hours than she had in all the prior years that she'd known him, she realized that he was showing her another side of himself. The side that made her see with utter clarity the truth behind the words, that he, indeed, was only human.

Unsure what to make of his sudden willingness to share, she borrowed a page from his playbook and said, "Explain."

Contemplating their peculiar role reversal, where he had to talk and she listened, Ranger said, "Years ago, I chose a life that would be complicated by an emotional attachment, though, not for the reasons you might think. As hard as I've fought against the pull between us; I was never able to stay emotionally detached from you. No matter the cost."

He paused, giving her an opening to interrupt, deliberately avoiding the catch-all phrase he often threw around. _'No price'_ had come to mean anything he was too closed off to say out loud. _'I'm glad you're unhurt. Stay safe. I love you.' _As much as he wanted to lay everything out, he couldn't stop himself from holding back, if only to see whether she'd call him on it. When she stayed silent, he continued, somewhat relieved that she didn't. It was too soon for him to tell her that, for her, he'd reconsidered his stance on relationships. She wasn't ready to hear it from him, at least not yet, and if he were completely honest, he wasn't ready to take that leap either. He'd have to work his way up to that, starting with filling her in on what she needed to know to stay alive.

"I've made a lot of enemies in my lifetime. And until two days ago, you could have been targeted simply for associating with me. But now the game's changed. Becoming an immortal made you a target in your own right…"

"What else is new?" she cut him off, rolling her eyes. "The immortal psychos can't be that much worse than the regular members of 'the stalkers of Stephanie Plum' fan club."

"That's where you're wrong, Babe. There are some who've made killing other immortals into their life's work." He paused, letting it sink in, and then continued, "No one's become immortal by dying of old age or illness. Accidental deaths aside, most immortals are fallen soldiers, murder victims, or executed criminals. Combining the shock of a violent death with the predisposition for a dangerous lifestyle creates a whole new caliber of crazy."

She blew out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, trying to shake off the irrational fear his words instilled, when he spoke again, an almost smile tipping up the corner of his lips.

"Brown would argue though, that the aftermath of the change causes irreparable damage to the psyche."

Recognizing that he was trying to break the tension for her benefit, giving her a reprieve from the heavy thoughts, she gave him a small smile in return.

"Basically, Bobby thinks we're all crazy?"

Ranger scratched his chin as if mulling over the thought, and then nodded. "The notion isn't without merit. If you're raised believing that a human lifetime is finite, accepting a fundamental flaw in that absolute isn't easy, even if you have irrefutable evidence to the contrary by virtue of having survived your own death."

"Is this the part where you remind me again that you're sick mentally and emotionally?" _And sexually,_ she added in her head, unwilling to touch the latter with a ten foot pole after their last tryst.

"Playing with fire, Babe."

Her face turned scarlet just like it had that day, and he flashed her a wolf grin, remembering her state of dress, or rather undress, when told her that he wasn't sick physically, but wasn't sure about the rest. He'd been only half-serious back then, making the comment for its shock value rather than anything else, but it occurred to him later, after she'd gone home to Morelli, that inadvertently, he'd told her the truth. Having resigned himself to the idea that immortality came at the cost of a solitary existence, he'd kept himself emotionally closed off to avoid the inevitable pain of loss. And even though the events leading up to their conversation here and now had changed his stance, he needed to tell her about the danger she was in, before broaching that subject.

Untrained, she was an easy mark for any predator, immortal or otherwise. And her latest run-in with the psychopath who'd been after him proved that, even with her incredible luck, she wasn't invincible, no matter how much she wanted to be. Still, he knew that trying to convince her that learning to defend herself had become of utmost importance for her survival would be in vain, because it had to be her decision, and all he could do was apply a little pressure.


	11. If you love me, won't you let me know

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thank you for being the most amazing beta. I couldn't have done this without you._

* * *

**Chapter 11. If you love me, won't you let me know**

"Some immortals turn out more deranged than others," Ranger said, rising up from the couch and striding over to the sliding library ladder. The second rung creaked under his weight, as he reached inside the top shelf and pulled out a worn leather-bound volume.

"This is the _Atrocitati Maleficarum,_ _Horrors of Witchcraft._ Unlike its better known counterpart, the _Malleus Maleficarum,_ _Hammer of the Witches*_, which served the Inquisition as de facto prosecution handbook during the witch trials, this treatise documented the most heinous crimes committed by the condemned."

With a mixture of awe and bewilderment, Stephanie watched Ranger, _no_, she corrected herself internally, _not Ranger, or any other alias he might have chosen, but Carlos_, _the man he kept hidden behind the blank mask, corporate attire, or badass persona_, as he leafed through the pages of the book.

The rustling of the old pages in the deafening silence of the room made her skin crawl with morbid anticipation, but she was wary of breaking his concentration with idle questions. His eyebrows knitted together and his lips moved ever so slightly, mouthing the words, as he searched for the relevant passage. The wait was testing her patience, and she was slowly working up the courage to speak, when he found what he was looking for, and his voice grew louder with the words of the recitative. His timbre, pitched lower than usual, was entrancing her, and with each word, she felt as if the air was getting sucked out of the room, the space converging to the spot, where he stood, absorbed in the narrative. The shadows lurking in the corners slowly encroached on the daylight, submerging the room into darkness, despite it being early afternoon. Her knuckles turned white from the death grip she had on the couch cushions, as she listened to his voice, not realizing he was speaking Latin, until he looked up from the book and explained.

"Between the years of 1560 and 1707, the witch trials in North Berwick, Scotland took more than three thousand lives of men and women for practicing sorcery. Declared servants of Satan, the majority were strangled and burned at the stake, except for one man, who, for three centuries prior, during the Anglo-Scottish Wars, drifted from battle to battle, fighting alongside the Scots. Instead of moving on to find another conflict worthy of his skills after peace was restored in the region, he remained, crossing the fine line separating a warrior from a murderer. The massacre at Lammermuir Hills** was a killing spree that took him along the settlements at the border with Lothian. No one was safe from his wrath: he took lives of women, children, elders... Caught red-handed, he was taken to a cell in the dungeons, where the condemned were held until they confessed their sins and awaited execution. The carnage he'd caused had the townsfolk clamoring for his blood, and his trial, unlike most that lasted years, was swift, but far from painless. And his ability to heal was used as evidence against him to speed up the conviction."

A chill went through Stephanie as the meaning of Ranger's words sunk in; she knew enough about medieval torture to appreciate that he didn't go into detail. Shivering, she rubbed her arms and was jarred from her thoughts, when his hands started kneading the muscles in her neck and shoulders_._ Even though she missed when he'd moved from the center of the room back to the couch, she was grateful that he did. Closing her eyes, she soaked up the comfort of his touch, as he worked the tension out of her body. When she opened her eyes again, the illusion of darkness had faded from the room; the afternoon sun was flowing in through the French doors and landing on the hardwood floor in patches of bright light.

"You okay, Steph?" Ranger asked, running his hands up and down her arms. "Can I go on?"

Her gaze fell on the page of the old book he'd left open on the coffee table and, unable to tear it away from the sketch of a man's face, she almost missed Ranger's question. Unconsciously committing the man's features to memory, she asked in a shaky voice, "Is that…?"

"Yes," he said, keeping his tone deliberately even, as he leaned forward to close the book. Briefly pausing to consider how much detail to give her so she would have sufficient incentive to learn self-defense, he studied her face and saw that her initial blasé reaction had given way to apprehension. Stephanie wasn't sold yet, but she would be, once he was done with his tale, he was sure of it.

"_Ingwar Thorgard_ was the name he used when he was strangled. Before his body was burned, he recovered, and his executioners met their demise on the scaffold meant for him. After he was finally overpowered by the crowd of spectators, he was taken back to his cell and immured inside."

She gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth, before whispering, "Omigod. What a horrible way to go."

The capacity for compassion in this vibrant woman never ceased to amaze him, though, on some level he had to agree with her, even if she misunderstood him.

"No one deserves the punishment he got, but the world is a safer place with him locked away."

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear – an action that normally would've settled her nerves – this time did absolutely nothing to ease the feeling of dread, coiling in her stomach. "You mean he's still there? Sealed inside the dungeon?"

"If Thorgard ever got out..." he thought better of finishing the sentence. The man was a monster, but the chances of his escaping his confinement were slim, which was why Ranger choose him for an example of the danger she could face. Telling Steph that he'd go to _any_ length to protect her, even against her will if necessary, should Thorgard become a real threat, wasn't part of his plan. It would undoubtedly lead to another flare-up of her temper, and that didn't bode well for their friendship.

"He's a cold-blooded killer, who's had four centuries worth of time to plan his revenge against mankind."

"Ranger, if you wanted to freak me out, it worked. I'm sorry I asked. I don't want to know," she rambled, picking off nonexistent lint from the hem of her shirt, hoping that he'd indulge her, so she could slip back into denial land. As loath as she was to admit, she might have liked it better when he'd stuck to one word answers. But when she looked up into his face, the set of his jaw told her that she wasn't getting her way.

"Not really a choice, Babe. Not anymore. There are a few things you have to know." His dark brown eyes softened, as the edge in his voice ebbed. "Things I have to tell you."

Silently, she nodded, urging him to continue.

"Most immortals abide by their own moral code, which may or may not fall in line with the law. Like Thorgard, some consider killing mortals morally right, while others take it upon themselves to live for cleansing the world of our kind. Our ability to sense other immortals gives them the ability to ensure the kill sticks." Pointedly, he looked at the stand, where his sword gleamed in the afternoon sun.

Following his gaze, she knew that her earlier hunch about the basement was right, but needed him to confirm it. "So… the armory downstairs?"

"Best to be prepared."

"For what? An invasion of Knights Templar?" She gaped at him. "There are enough weapons down there to arm the entire staff of RangeMan. Including Ella and Louis."

"Babe." His eyes twinkled with mirth, crinkling in the corners, as he gave her an almost smile.

"Oh, I'm such a dope." She rolled her eyes. "That's the point, right?"

The corners of his lips tipped up again, but he said nothing to refute her assumption. She bit her lower lip, trying to decide if she should ask him the question that had been bugging her since she'd cut her finger on his sword.

"Why do you keep the sword up here?"

"There's an edged weapon in every room of this house," he said with an infinitesimal shrug.

Stephanie shook her head in astonishment. "Paranoid much?"

"I've learned the hard way to never underestimate the enemy. You never know who's going to come knocking."

"Ugh. You're serious." She sighed, finding it disconcerting that she no longer had trouble believing something that would have seemed surreal a few days back. But it didn't escape her that he didn't answer the question she'd asked, so she clarified, "I meant why _this _sword? You took it downstairs earlier instead of picking one from the cages. It has to be special."

"Material possessions don't mean much to me. You know that. But this sword was a parting gift from Don Francisco*** before I left for the Americas… and it's saved my life more times than I care to count."

"Oh." Of all the things Stephanie would've expected to hear, it wasn't that, and she didn't know how to respond, except to ask another question. "And the sword fight with Tank?"

Without saying another word, Ranger rose from the couch and walked over to the stand with the sword. He wasn't about to confess that, if he didn't fill in the gaps he'd left during their conversation at dinner the other night, Tank promised to beat his ass and then talk to her himself.

"Well-honed skill requires daily practice." Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, Ranger stilled, and then released it, turning back to face her. "To be the best you can be when you need to."

"You've gotta be kidding. Don't you know me at all?"

The loathing she had for the gun range and fitness requirements was legendary at RangeMan. Surely he wasn't expecting her to learn to wield a sword. Yet, judging by the stony expression on his face, he was.

"Ranger, my gun's in the cookie jar. And unless you took it upon yourself to load it and leave me a box of ammo, I'm all out of bullets. What in our history together would possess you to think I could handle a sword? I couldn't even lift the damn thing!"

"The weight isn't the issue here, Babe." He turned his back to her to look outside at the ocean waves crashing ashore and added quietly, "Steph, you're the most determined person I know. You can do just about anything. But choose not to."

She thought she heard him sigh, and the resignation with which he said the words, sparked an epiphany that threw her for a loop. "Is that it? Why you've been pushing me away?" Her voice cracked and she had to take a deep breath before she could continue. "You knew I could become immortal. You thought I'd never last."

He ran his hand over his face, inwardly cursing the vicious cycle of misunderstanding they were unable to break. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I thought that you'd be safer that way. I could protect you better, if we weren't involved," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I was wrong."

Stephanie barely restrained herself from doing a double take. Having a hard time believing what she had heard was real, she surreptitiously pinched herself, before making her way to his side and laying her hand on his bicep. "What are you saying?"

He didn't shake off her hand, but didn't make a move to increase their contact. "By fighting the attraction between us, I put you in greater danger. You were taken again because you were linked to me. If that had been an immortal…"

Her imagination didn't need him to finish the thought to fill in the blanks from the comment he'd made earlier. _If the guy who'd kidnapped me had been an immortal, he could have made sure I stayed dead after I got shot. _She shuddered at the thought, but then recalled the chain of events as it unfolded that day and shook her head emphatically.

"Ranger, that had nothing to do with you. I wasn't kidnapped. Not this time. I tailed my skip…" she paused, as the words of the elderly gentleman she saw when she'd snuck into the back room of the warehouse, floated into her mind. _'What a pleasant surprise, Miss Plum. So nice of you to join us.'_ The greeting, which had seemed odd at the time, made so much more sense now. She sighed before stating the obvious. "It was a setup."

Without taking his eyes off the horizon, Ranger said, "Alembert was a pawn. The mark we were after, Decker, used him to lure you to the warehouse."

"What did he need me for?"

He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she was struck by the remorseful expression in his eyes. "Leverage, Babe. He knew I was after him. And his plans for Trenton didn't include getting caught."

"But you nabbed him, right?"

He skipped a beat, thinking that she didn't need to know what had happened to Decker. "Last night."

His reverting to single word answers was enough for Stephanie to suspect that he was glossing over something. "Okay, Ranger, what aren't you telling me?"

Reminding himself that he promised to be more forthcoming with her, he took her hand in his and, after rubbing his thumb over her knuckles a few times, said, "Bobby had to leave town. He caught a bullet and was declared dead at the scene."

Feeling the telltale sting of tears behind her eyelids, she squeezed her eyes shut and blinked to stop them from falling. "Bobby's fine though, right? Please, tell me he's fine."

He started rubbing her knuckles again, before saying, "Santos flew him out to Toronto. Both checked in with Tank a few hours ago."

Assuming that this was what had set off her spidey sense during the phone call with her mother, she asked, "Did they take him to Mercer County M.E.'s office?" When Ranger arched an eyebrow, she explained. "A rumor about a body that vanished from the morgue in Ewing is all over the 'Burg."

As she was going to ask if Bobby's rushed departure meant she'd never see him again, Ranger got a call. She stepped back, and he jerked the offending gadget off his belt, before flipping it open.

"Talk!"

After exchanging a few terse phrases, he hung up. "I have to head back. TPD is investigating the disappearance and Morelli's the lead on the case. He's waiting for me at RangeMan."

Pulling her to his chest, he couldn't resist brushing his lips against her temple. "Babe, stay here as long as you want. RangeMan can cover your skips."

"Thanks, Ranger." Her voice came out barely above whisper. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, before adding tentatively, "For everything."

His arms tightened around her. "No price, remember?"

Needing space for what she was about to say, she stepped out of his embrace, and he let her. "I've been hiding out here long enough. I should go home."

Nodding, he studied her face, feeling as though he was missing something. The sadness in her eyes bothered him, but he had to wait until after he dealt with TPD to pry its cause out of her. "Have dinner with me on seven tonight?"

While she had a feeling he didn't tell her everything he'd meant to, she'd reached her limit. She wasn't ready to continue and definitely not on seven. The memory of their last conversation and the heartbreak that came with it was still too fresh in her mind. Having reconsidered her rash 'all or nothing' mentality, she needed to figure out a way to be his friend without pining for the relationship she couldn't have. It wasn't as if she planned to tell him again that she loved him, but she didn't exactly _plan_ to tell him the first time either. And as content as she was living in denial, she had to take the time to process everything she'd learned over the past few days.

Shaking her head, she said, "Not tonight. Rain check?"

* * *

A/N A few endnotes.

*The _Malleus Maleficarum_ is a real book, while the _Atrocitati Maleficarum_ is not. I've read the former and 'created' the latter for my nefarious purposes with my limited knowledge of Latin and help from Google.

**Lammermuir Hills form a natural boundary between Lothian and the Scottish Borders. During the period after the Anglo Scottish wars there were isolated incidents of violence in the settlements along the border, but the 'massacre' isn't historically accurate because it's a figment of my imagination. Places, historical figures, and events used in this story were rewritten to fit with the plot line.

***Ranger told Steph the story of his life before he'd become immortal, at the end of chapter four, mentioning Don Francisco Fernandez de la Cueva, the Second Duke of Alburquerque.


	12. Sometimes words have two meanings

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thank you for all the work you've done on this chapter, as always, your input has been invaluable.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 12. Sometimes words have two meanings**

Denial land was a safe place that never failed to shelter Stephanie from reality. Since she'd returned from Rumson a week ago, she busied herself with work, spending as little time by herself as possible to avoid thinking about her future. Relieved that Tank's prediction about no one noticing the change in her had been dead-on, she went about bringing in low bond skips and running searches for RangeMan as if nothing had happened.

That morning, she picked up a dozen doughnuts at Tasty Pastry and, after spending three quality hours catching up on the gossip with the girls at the office, got the file for Marlene Kaminski. Heading to her parents' house, Stephanie figured she'd kill two birds with one stone: mooch lunch and, since Marlene was from the 'Burg, pick Grandma Mazur's brain for the skip's whereabouts.

Pulling up to the curb, she was surprised that no one was waiting by the door. _The 'Burg radar must be on the fritz, _she thought, walking inside the house, and yelled, "Hello? Anybody home? Mom? Grandma?"

"Hiya, baby granddaughter!" Edna's boisterous voice carried from the kitchen. "Your mother's at Giovichinni's market. Your father's at the Lodge."

Making her way into her mother's domain, Stephanie was surprised to find Grandma Mazur fussing about. Dressed in a tight fitting lavender track suit with the word _'juicy'_ emblazoned in rhinestones across her behind, Edna bopped to music only she could hear, setting the table. Returning to the stove, she lifted the lid off a Dutch oven to add a pinch of paprika to the simmering stew, and the mouthwatering aroma wafted from the pot, taking Stephanie back to the days of her childhood.

Breathing in a lungful, she asked almost reverently, "Grandma? Is that goulash?"

"Uh-hum." Edna smiled at her youngest granddaughter, ladling a hearty portion into a bowl. "Just like I used to make when you and your sister were little." Cutting a slice from a large round loaf with a thick crust, she set it on a plate next to the bowl and pulled a chair out for Stephanie. "Sit. Eat."

"Aren't you going to have any?" Stephanie asked, dropping a dollop of sour cream into her stew and moaning after the first bite.

"Well, I was going to wait for your mother, but I'll have some with you." She fixed herself a bowl and settled in a chair across the table. "Now that I'm going steady with Arnie Nemeth, I need all my energy to keep up with the young stud."

Arnold Nemeth was a seventy-one year old building engineer and no spring chicken. But he was a year younger than Edna, and she got a kick out of that.

Grandma flashed Stephanie a conspiratorial smile, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Bingo at the senior center tonight. You like this outfit? Or should I change?" She unzipped her hoodie to reveal a fuzzy midriff-baring top in neon fuchsia. "I'm thinking of leaving the jacket at home. They had a mishap with the air conditioning last Thursday. And I don't need a heat stroke before I get to check out Arnie's real estate."

Taking in her outfit, Stephanie swallowed a spoonful of goulash without chewing much and said, "It's very _you_, Grandma."

The striking contrast between the flashy clothes and the slack skin over Grandma's dainty frame made Stephanie see the harsh reality of growing old, something she'd never get to experience. And as Ranger's words floated into her mind, y_ou won't look a day older than you do today,_ she felt a stab of a foreign emotion, which she had trouble grappling with. Relief was there, but so was regret and fear of inevitable loss. No matter how much time she had left with her parents and grandmother, it wasn't nearly enough. For the first time, since waking up immortal, it occurred to her that grief over losing her loved ones would become a part of life forever.

Seeking solace, she covered Edna's slender hand with hers, squeezing gently, and felt a faint sizzle. The second she jerked her hand away, the sensation faded as if she'd imagined it, but the jubilant look Grandma Mazur gave her meant that she hadn't.

"Ain't that a pip?! It finally happened, huh?"

Rendered momentarily speechless, Stephanie managed, "What? How…?"

Growing uncharacteristically serious, Edna studied her granddaughter for a moment.

"You felt it." Even though it was more of a statement than a question, she waited for Stephanie's confirmation. Seeing her nod, she continued, "I've known you'd become immortal, since you'd jumped off the garage roof, baby granddaughter. And with all the trouble you've gotten into with this bounty hunting gig lately, it was only a matter of time."

"Yes, but, that means you…"

"Me?" Edna shook her head. "Oh, no."

"Then how'd you know…?" Stephanie trailed off, trying to wrap her mind around Grandma knowing that she'd become immortal one day, and then asked absently, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Edna's firm voice interrupted Stephanie's musings. "I'll tell you a story, and maybe you'll understand." She rose from the chair and said, "Be right back," before disappearing behind the door.

When she returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, she was carrying a red maple puzzle box that usually sat on top of the dresser in her bedroom. Growing up, Stephanie and Mary Lou often played with that box, but could never figure out a way to open it, and stopped trying after they scratched one of the intricately carved planks.

Grandma set the box onto the table and sat down. Turning it to the side, she pushed out the bottom slat and removed a small key from the thin compartment inside. After sliding down the carved plank covering the keyhole, she put in the key and lifted the lid. On the inside, the name _'Edna Molnar'*_ was etched in delicate cursive beneath the mirror. Stephanie ran her finger over the engraving and looked at her grandmother, awaiting explanation.

"Mary Lou's grandfather on her father's side was my third cousin. Didn't you know that?" When Stephanie shook her head, Grandma added quietly, "Ed never came home from the war**. But this has nothing to do with him. That story is for another time."

Falling silent, she began taking things out of the box. A thin stack of postcards, tied off with a pink ribbon, a blue velvet pouch, smelling faintly of cedar and musk, a silver lamé coin purse, missing a bead at the clasp, and a mother of pearl pillbox, adorned with a cameo, were all set aside. At the very bottom was a sepia photograph that Grandma picked up and laid gingerly in front of Stephanie.

Edna Mazur was easily recognizable in the young beauty, wearing a light shirtdress with billowing skirt, leaning over the rails of the boardwalk next to the Ambassador Hotel. But it was the man in a dark pinstripe suit, standing beside her, who drew Stephanie's attention. He wasn't Grandpa Mazur.

"He's a looker, isn't he?" Grandma tapped her scarlet nail over the picture. "One summer, before I knew your Grandpa, I went down to Atlantic City with the girls. When I saw him on the Boardwalk, I knew that he was different from anyone else I'd ever met. That he was my soul mate." She smiled softly at the memory. "Jason was handsome, charming, smart, and loaded – everything a girl's dreams were made of, except for a teensy detail – he was unavailable."

"Grandma!" Mortified that her grandmother could have been a home wrecker like her arch nemesis Joyce Barnhardt, Stephanie exclaimed, "What were you thinking? Please, tell me you didn't get involved with a married man."

Edna smirked at the passionate outburst from her granddaughter. She must have done something right with this one; even if her baby did jump to conclusions too quickly, her integrity was unquestionable.

"No, baby granddaughter, he wasn't married. But it didn't make him any more open to the kind of relationship I wanted. He didn't hide that he wasn't cut out to be a family man, and I wasn't going to settle." She sighed and picked up the photograph again. "But you don't choose who you fall in love with. I was young and naïve, thinking our love would change him… Men don't change. The longer they live, the more set in their ways they become. Either accept them as they are, or move on."

"Jason was immortal?"

"Yes. And even though I never went through the change, I could feel his energy." She paused so Stephanie would catch the significance of what she was about to tell her. "He told me that I could become one too."

"And you believed him?"

"Didn't have a reason for doubt," she hesitated again, mulling over something. "Well, that, and the strong tingling sensation that I felt anytime he was near. I believed him because, for as long as I'd known him, he never lied to me, even when he probably should have. Not unlike that hot bounty hunter of yours."

_If only that were true,_ Stephanie thought, as it occurred to her that Grandma had just admitted to knowing that Ranger was immortal.

Noticing her granddaughter's stunned expression, Edna explained, "Other than Jason, I've only been able to sense immortals with a touch." She waggled her eyebrows. "M-hum, copping a feel of that Ranger's package was illuminating in more ways than one."

Stephanie winced, remembering Ranger's pained expression the time he had a close encounter with her grandmother's wandering hands, and rushed to change the subject.

"Grandma, if you were in love with Jason, how'd you end up marrying Grandpa?"

"Jason told me about the changes I'd have to make once I became immortal. And I wanted none of it."

"What do you mean, you wanted none of it? As if you had a choice or anything…"

"Sure did. There was always a chance that I could have gotten killed, but if not, I could have taken the sleeping pills that Jason had given me before going to bed one night, and I would have woken up immortal the following morning."

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "If a bottle of prescription meds doesn't spell 'romance', I don't know what does."

"Don't be so quick to judge, baby granddaughter. It was a way for us to be together. For eternity." She sighed. "I wasn't much of a trailblazer back in the day. Brought up wanting marriage and children, I turned him down because he couldn't give me that."

"You mean he wouldn't?"

Edna let out a dry chuckle. "Marriage means little if both partners outlive their identities every twenty years. I could have lived without it, but," she smiled sadly, laying her hand over Stephanie's, and added softly, "immortals are sterile."

"You mean…" Stephanie's voice wavered. She wasn't even sure she wanted children, but having the choice ripped from her felt oddly disconcerting. Though she could see a definite upside, as it would be pointless to worry about not being the ideal 'Burg wife when there was no chance for her to ever become one. "I can't have kids?"

Grandma Mazur shook her head, and Stephanie released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I don't know if I even wanted to be a mother, so that's okay, I guess."

"Remember, Stephanie, destiny is what you make of it. The choice is yours: nothing more, nothing less. I gave up mine because I wanted a family. You'll make your own way."

She chucked Stephanie under the chin with her gaunt finger. "I've lived a life of a good 'Burg wife. Stayed out of harm's way. Boring? Sure. But safe. And I have no regrets. Don't ever doubt that."

Picking up the blue velvet pouch that she'd set aside earlier, Grandma loosened the ties and shook out an Art Deco navette-shaped aquamarine necklace onto her palm. "I want you to have this."

"Omigod. It's beautiful," Stephanie said softly, "I can't…"

Edna cut her off, "Don't be ridiculous. Of course, you can," she winked, "it'll be our secret."

Making her way over to stand behind Stephanie's chair, she brushed her curls off to the side. "Lift," she said, holding it away from her neck. When Stephanie complied, Edna slid the chain around her neck and fastened it. The stone nestled right over Stephanie's sternum, just above the scoop neckline of her top.

"Go on, let's have a look." Edna ushered Stephanie into the hall, stopping her in front of the full length mirror. "There. Perfect."

Admiring the reflection, Stephanie caught Grandma's eye in the mirror and asked, "How come I've never seen you wear this?"

Edna gave her a hard look, all trace of mischief Stephanie had come to associate with her gone. "It wouldn't be proper for a married woman to wear another man's jewelry, would it?" Then the harsh line of her mouth relaxed, as her face brightened again. "But it's a keepsake for you to remember me by."

She smoothed her hands over Stephanie's shoulders and gave her a light nudge. "Now, it's your time spread your wings. Don't be afraid of your destiny. Seize it. For the both of us."

Stephanie climbed into her clunker and thumped her head on the steering wheel. _Ranger lied to me._ Even if she'd suspected as much, Grandma unintentionally confirmed it_. If Jason didn't lie to Grandma, there was no way Julie could have been Ranger's daughter._ Stephanie wasn't so naïve as to believe Batman didn't know that. _Whose daughter was she? And Scrog? What happened then?_

Stephanie squeezed her eyes shut, as painful memories flashed in her mind. The blood-soaked carpet in her apartment, Ranger's prone form on the gurney, and the sleepless night she'd spent pacing the halls of the hospital, waiting for updates on his condition. All that had to have been nothing more than a well-choreographed show. But her anguish had been real, almost too real to bear, and his disregard for it was a tough pill to swallow.

Starting the car, Stephanie motored to her apartment, thinking about the past week. Ranger abided by her wishes, giving her the space she'd asked for, after he'd left his house in Rumson. Even though she'd felt his presence at RangeMan, before he was called up to Boston to handle an emergency three days ago, he hadn't pushed her to spend any time with him until she was ready. Unlocking the door to her apartment, she made her decision. As hurt as she was by his lies, she couldn't imagine a life without him in it. So she was going to ask him to tell her the truth about Julie and Scrog, once he returned to Trenton, and hoped that she could learn to trust him again.

* * *

A/N: _*Molnar would be Edna's maiden name in this universe._

_**'war' in this case is World War II_

_This plot twist has been brought to you courtesy of trhodes9. Her comment to one of the earlier chapters, 'Too bad grandma isn't an immortal too. That would be a hoot!' inspired me, so there you go._


	13. I haven't ever really found a place

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thanks to your incredible beta skills this chapter actually flows.  
_

_My apologies for the long break between chapter postings. I fractured my right elbow a little over a week ago, and learning to type in a splint has been a challenge.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 13. I haven't ever really found a place that I call home**

_Pitiful, _was the only word that came to mind, when Stephanie took in her living space for what seemed to be the first time in ages since moving into her apartment. Between the outdated bathroom and lackluster kitchen, it was an interior decorator's wet dream, assuming they could rip everything out to start with a clean slate. Even though she'd had the chance to do just that, on more than one occasion, she hadn't taken it, unwilling to spend good money on things, which were bound to be destroyed in the next disaster. Instead of accepting Ranger's offer of a good security system to prevent it from happening yet again, she swapped one hand-me-down couch for another, never giving it a second thought. And so here she was, an adult, living in an apartment fit for a coed.

_That's just depressing,_ she sighed inwardly, toying with the stone of her Grandma's necklace. Walking into the kitchen, she caught sight of Rex's empty aquarium on the counter. It was now four months since he'd moved on to the big wheel in the sky, but she couldn't bring herself to get another hamster. It didn't feel right to replace a friend because her heart told her that true friends were irreplaceable. Looking away from his soup can, she reached into the fridge to grab a bottle of Coke, poured it into a glass, and headed back to the lumpy couch in the living room.

Her conversation with Grandma earlier in the day had given her plenty of food for thought, and going after Marlene Kaminski, her only outstanding skip, had lost its appeal. After checking her bank balance online, she leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. Since she'd started running searches for RangeMan on a more regular basis to supplement her bounty hunting income, she'd built a bit of a nest egg and could afford to make tangible changes to her lifestyle. Until now, she hadn't thought much about the future, but the possibility of spending another twenty years between these four ugly walls, sent her reeling.

Moping around the apartment, which had become nothing more than a place to crash, was a waste of time, when she was certain that her inbox at RangeMan was overflowing thanks to Tank's efforts. _Something has to give, _she thought, taking a drink from her glass. The bubbles tickled her nose, and she coughed, struggling to catch her breath, when the carbonated liquid went down the wrong pipe. Wiping tears from her eyes, she rose from the couch, set her glass on the table, and went to change into her uniform.

Half an hour later, she pulled into the garage on Haywood and angled her bucket of bolts into its usual spot next to the space for Ranger's Turbo. The shiny black coupe was missing, so she assumed the man had gotten tied up in Boston for another day. Her heart sunk; as mad as she'd been at him earlier, she was anxious to see him and was hoping that he'd be back by now. She stared at the key fob on her keychain that he'd replaced while they were still in Rumson, erasing all traces of the morning fight on that fateful day. It was as if it never happened.

She let out a deep sigh. _Doesn't he realize how screwed up this is? How dysfunctional it makes us?_

An abrupt rap on her window brought her out of her mental ramblings. Looking through the glass, she saw Hector leaning against a black truck, wearing an amused expression.

She opened the car door and slipped from behind the wheel. "¡Hola, Hector!"

"¡Hola, chica! You comin' up? ¿O vas a sentar en tu coche toda la noche?" he asked in a mixture of slightly accented English and slowly enunciated Spanish. "Sentar means sit, coche means car, noche means night."

Shortly after she started running searches for RangeMan on a semi-permanent basis, she figured out Hector's secret. Most people didn't question what they were told without good reason, but Stephanie Plum was not most people. And one night, while she was running a search on a hacker wanted by the Feds, it occurred to her that an electronics genius capable of obtaining information inaccessible by the software she used, and creating identities, which passed governmental background checks, had to be fluent in English. She suspected that the majority of RangeMen were aware of his being bilingual, but respected his wish to be addressed in the language he preferred.

When she mustered up the courage to ask him about it, she got a rare but warm smile in return and a confession that he was born and raised about thirty miles north of Trenton, in Perth Amboy. She walked away from his cave, as he called his office next to the gun range, with a deal: as long as she kept that knowledge to herself, he'd teach her Spanish. Somehow, she felt that she'd been suckered into a situation that wasn't a fair tradeoff, but didn't complain, on most days.

"No, I'm not sitting in the car all night." She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and slammed the car door with her hip to ensure it stayed shut. "Giving me three new words to learn is just wrong. The deal was for one!"

"Sí. But you're forgetting that you get _fined_ for unsafe behavior." Hector smiled, extending his fist, and started counting off fingers. "One, daydreaming in the car. Two, driving a clunker that can stall out anywhere. Three, keeping your gun in the cookie jar," he paused for effect, "and that favor you asked me for is done. So, really, I should've given you four words…"

Forgetting to grumble about his bringing up two behaviors, which were as much a part of her lifestyle as sugar binges, she bit back a shriek of glee at the news that he came through for her. Anxious to get to his cave, she headed for the elevators, not watching her step, and would have flopped on her butt, if Hector hadn't caught her under the elbow.

"You okay, Angel?"

A sizzle of electricity shot up her arm, and she would have tripped again, but he held steady, guiding her to the elevators without loosening his hold.

"Esteph?" he asked with concern evident in his tone.

"Huh?" She gave him a look of a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. Realizing the surge had been one-sided, she shook off her stupor. It didn't look as if he knew _what_ he was, or rather could become, and she wasn't about to change that. She didn't want him to think she was crazy, so she gave him a small smile and said, "Yeah, all good. Lead the way."

Another half an hour later, she was strolling through the fifth floor to her cubby, with a small cardstock envelope tucked away into the back pocket of her shoulder bag.

Aside from the buzz of electronic equipment and quiet conversations, the control room was usually quiet, but in the last seven days, after Bobby's departure, it was even more so. Naturally, neither the TPD, nor RangeMan investigations had made any headway in locating the body, though, the core team didn't hide their leaning on every available source. In the absence of closure, the morale at RangeMan had hit rock bottom. Even the usual suspects like Lester, Vince, and Manny, who could be counted on to liven up the mood with pranks or raunchy jokes weren't their usual jovial selves. The gym and the gun range were seeing extra traffic as the guys worked through the loss of their colleague and friend.

_Maybe things will get better after the memorial service tomorrow? _Stephanie asked herself. Her friend wasn't _gone_ but was missing from her life just the same. Even if mourning him didn't seem appropriate, the weight that settled over her chest every time she wondered whether she'd see him again made it hard to breathe.

_Who's going to patch me up when I don't want to go to St. Francis? Yeesh, what an idiot! _She sighed, aggravated by her short-lived memory lapse._ How the hell will I cover up not needing medical assistance after my next mishap, if he's not here? _She pressed her thumbs to the corners of her eyes. _Enough of this nonsense. Your mascara isn't waterproof!_ She took a deep cleansing breath. _One thing at a time. Bobby is fine. And I'm an adult, I'll figure it out._

The pep talk calmed her down enough to delve into the stack of search requests, piled high in her inbox. After working for a few hours, she sent another set of results to the printer and stretched. A telltale tingle at the nape of her neck told her that the man, whose return she so eagerly awaited, was now in the building and most likely aware of her presence.

_I need… coffee. And maybe one of Ella's blueberry muffins. _Beating a hasty escape to the break room, she tried convincing herself that she wasn't hiding from Ranger, just buying a minute or ten, before asking him the million dollar question. She might have felt she was entitled to an explanation about Julie and Scrog, but there was no guarantee that he'd agree. Her palms were sweaty, and her hands were shaking when she went to snag a muffin off the tray on the break room table. _Do I have any chocolate at my desk? _She tried to remember, as she pondered the beverage choices available. None were all that high on the liquid courage scale, and she needed sugar to settle her nerves.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she spilled a little on the counter, when she jumped, startled by the loud guffaw from the hallway. As of late, the sound was so rare inside RangeMan, that she stilled to hear snippets of conversation, telling herself that if Vince and Manny were out in the open, she wasn't eavesdropping.

The guys were talking about the new RangeMan medic, Morgan Carter. Apparently, he wasn't signing off on Brett's return to active duty after a concussion, and Brett wasn't too happy about it. Stephanie remembered getting an email from Carter to schedule a time to go over her medical history, which she'd quickly deleted, thinking that if she ignored it, he'd get a hint and leave her alone. But now that they made him sound like a total hard-ass, she wasn't as certain that her decision had been a wise one.

Draining the last of her coffee, she rinsed her mug and headed for Ranger's office. The door was closed, and she heard the rumble of his voice, but couldn't make out what he was saying.

_What language is that? German? _She shook her head and turned away from the door. This definitely fell into the realm of eavesdropping, and if she wanted him to trust her with his secrets in the future, doing so was the wrong way to go about it.

Ranger felt Steph approach his office and then walk away after a few seconds. But he didn't interrupt his phone call to find out if she were ready to talk or to stop her from leaving. He told himself that he was putting this much effort into locating Gwyneth Yates for Stephanie's sake. Brown had suggested that she might be convinced to help Stephanie learn to manage the hypersensitivity to other immortals, preventing future blackouts, and Ranger thought it was worth a shot. But his ardent search for the elusive woman wasn't entirely selfless: the hunter in him had awakened, motivated by the thrill of the chase and the desire to show Gwyneth that no matter how good she had gotten at covering her tracks, she couldn't hide from him.

Minutes earlier, when he'd walked into the office after his ill-timed trip to Boston, he found that despite his doubts, Hector had delivered the results he and Tank were waiting for. On the secure drive accessible solely by the core team, were files with copies of documents showing the state of affairs of the late Gwyneth Yates, an art dealer of SoHo, New York. One file containing articles, published in art journals from all over the world, which Hector assembled in chronological order, got his attention. All the articles were by Guinevere Yates, an art theft investigator, specializing in recovering stolen masterpieces. Hector pulled the information on Guinevere together because it appeared as though she was Gwyneth's only living relative, a niece. But Ranger suspected that wasn't the case.

The next file he opened had him reaching for the phone, disregarding the time difference between Geneva and Trenton. Yates had been just sixty miles north three days ago, but the trail could easily go cold in Europe.

The security footage, pulled from the cameras at the terminal four of John F. Kennedy International Airport in Jamaica, Queens, showed her boarding the flight to Zurich, Switzerland, giving him a visual confirmation that Gwyneth and Guinevere were one and the same. Before the images of her current passport and boarding pass were fully loaded on his screen, he'd retained the investigative services of Jason Sheridan, the owner of Quecksilber Sicherheit, a private security firm based in Geneva. When Brown made contact the next time, Ranger would have a starting point and local help for him to continue the search for Guinevere, nee Gwyneth Yates.

By the time Ranger hung up the phone, Stephanie had finished her work for the day and gone home. Looking at the camera feed over the empty chair in her cubby, he rubbed the back of his neck to release tension. The trip to Boston, where he'd crammed the work of at least a week into three days, left him weary and frustrated. As it were, returning to Trenton a day later than he intended put a wrinkle in his plans. Instead of welcoming Carter on board the day she started at RangeMan, he'd have to call a special meeting to introduce the new core team member and medic, before the memorial service for Brown tomorrow.

Shutting down his computer, he briefly considered going over to Stephanie's apartment, but nixed the idea. As much as he wanted to see her, he wasn't going to until she sought him out. After she'd turned him down in his own house, he wasn't about to give her a chance to do it again.

_You want time, Babe? Take it. _His patience unwavering, he could wait as long as it took for her to make up her mind. He'd always warned her though, he wasn't above applying pressure to get the desired outcome. With predatory gleam in his eyes, he walked out of his office and headed for the stairs to the penthouse. _You'll come around, Babe. Sooner rather than later, given the right incentive._

* * *

_A/N: Thank you, babesrus2, for telling me that Hector deserved to be immortal. I couldn't agree more, so there you go. Hope it was as fun for you guys to read and it has been for me to write. After all, that's what we're here for, right? _

_TBC  
_


	14. Another turning point

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies. Highlands Girl, I'm greatly indebted to you for all your help with this story._

_I'd like to thank everyone for reading and following this story, and recognize all the wonderful people who take their time to review. I truly appreciate every comment I receive.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 14. Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road**

Stephanie was buckling her black t-strap FMPs, when she heard a hard knock on her front door. From the energy surge she felt, she knew that Tank was in the hallway. Not bothering to look through the peephole, she opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

"You're early, Big Guy," she said, forgoing a greeting.

She'd run into him at the bonds office that morning, while she was dropping off the body receipt for her last skip, and he'd offered to give her a lift to Rossini's for Bobby's memorial service. Her car's clutch had been acting up in the last few days, and she didn't want to risk arriving to the service late, or worse, getting stranded on the way, having to call for help. Flying high after an easy pickup, she'd agreed to catch a ride with him, but now she was questioning her decision.

"Looking good, Steph."

Catching a hint of amusement in Tank's tone, she saw that his eyes were crinkled at the corners. Following his line of sight, she realized he was staring at her feet. In her rush to get the door, she'd dropped the right shoe on the floor in her closet and was only wearing her left one.

"Har dee har." She rolled her eyes, walking toward her bedroom. "You're a regular comedian, Tank. You could've let yourself in, you know. Everyone else does."

Sliding her foot into her shoe, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. The black wrap dress she was wearing hugged her curves in all the right places and her grandmother's necklace, settled above the somewhat conservative neckline, drew attention to her pushup enhanced cleavage, without being too obvious.

Looking over her outfit, she had to admit that Tank had been onto something, and the comment she'd mistaken for a joke wasn't. _What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even take a compliment._ With a sigh, she grabbed her purse and headed back to the living room.

"You just about ready?" he asked, watching her pull a wrap off the coat hook. With a nod, she rushed out the door, debating whether she should apologize for being curt when he was trying to lighten her mood. But as the silence between them stretched, it felt silly to say anything, so she kept quiet, following him out of her building.

The late September evening was chilly. Shivering from a gust of wind, Stephanie pulled the wrap tight around her shoulders, before climbing into Tank's black Range Rover.

As he drove through the 'Burg, Stephanie stared out the window, trying to figure out whether she should have braved taking her own car. She was thinking that she'd have been spared from making a fool of herself, when his booming voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"What's on your mind, Little Girl?"

She got a feeling that he wanted to ask something else but didn't, waiting for her answer. Assuming that he'd be disappointed if she were to share her morose thoughts, she asked, "Do you know about Hector?"

He went along with her weak attempt at evasion, sensing that she'd clam up if he were to push for more. "What about him?"

The tone of his voice gave nothing away, and when she looked at him to gauge his reaction, she got no more insight into his thinking from his blank face. "Remember, you told me that you'd want to know if one of the guys was immortal?" She paused, telling herself if Hector didn't know about the possibility of becoming immortal, she wasn't breaking his confidence. At Tank's curt nod, she continued, "Hector isn't, or at least not yet. One fatal injury…" Her voice trailed off as she bit her bottom lip, before asking, "Do you think Ranger knows?"

"Never mentioned it." Tank fell silent for a moment. "Sure explains why he hired Hector." He shrugged, seeing her confused expression. "He isn't your typical RangeMan."

"That's the understatement of the century," she said, suppressing a chuckle.

He smiled indulgently at her outburst, before carrying on with the explanation. "Hector was one of our first hires at RangeMan Trenton, when we expanded beyond the core team, after Hal and Cal. Three months after we were up and running, Ranger brought in this scrawny kid with gang tats and piss poor attitude. Stuck him in a conference room with two laptops and told everyone to stay away. A week later, Hector was a fulltime employee."

"And you never questioned him?"

Lately, when talking to Tank, she felt as if she'd developed ESP, and his '_you should know better'_, rang in her ears even though he didn't dignify her question with a response. She wished she could communicate with Ranger as well as she now could with Tank, but had a feeling that came from his wanting no misunderstandings between them, rather than her improved ability to read the big man.

"I know, I know. He's the boss. But you guys are close, right?"

"Ever wonder why a ship needs only one captain?" Ignoring her eye roll at his naval analogy, he angled the truck into a parking space in the Rossini's lot and finished his thought. "A successful company isn't that different from a ship. One guy in charge. Ranger's that guy." He paused to kill the engine. "C'mon, time to pay our respects."

Laying her hand on his massive arm, she stopped him from leaving the truck. "But how? When you know Bobby…"

Tank cut her off. "_Bobby Brown _is gone, Steph. You have to accept that." The tone of his voice told her that her time to ask questions had run out, and she needed to put on her game face.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "Okay. I can do this."

"I got your back, Little Girl."

Walking into Rossini's, Stephanie saw a sea of familiar faces. The entire staff of RangeMan was there, save for the skeleton crew left manning the office; the TPD, paramedics, and E.R. staff from St. Francis showed up in staggering numbers. Giving a little finger wave to Eddie Gazarra and Robin Russell, she made her way to a table in the back, where Ella was setting out candles for the lighting ceremony at the end. After taking the candles from Ella's shaky hands, Stephanie wrapped her arm around the older woman and steered them away from the flower arrangements and pictures, absently wondering who'd put the collages together.

Stephanie was listening to Ella share her fond memories of Bobby, when the housekeeper from the Rumson house waved them over to one of the RangeMan tables. "Hello, Stephanie, honey," Maritza said softly. "Lester was looking for you. You'll be doing a reading?"

Leaving Ella in Maritza's capable hands, Stephanie headed for the front of the room, where Lester stood, talking to Tank. She was just a few feet away, when she caught sight of a familiar form, clad in a black pantsuit instead of the usual leather. Mentally rolling her eyes, she locked her gaze with Jeanne Ellen Burrows.

"My condolences," Jeanne Ellen said, putting her hand on Stephanie's forearm to halt her progress, "heard you guys were tight."

"Thank you." Narrowing her eyes, Stephanie glared down at her arm. "I wish we could catch up, but I'm needed up there." She waved her hand in Lester's general direction. "If you excuse me…"

Jeanne Ellen stepped back, releasing her, and Stephanie continued on, thinking, _No tingles! Thank God for small favors. _Trying to keep a somber expression, she stifled a highly inappropriate giggle, when she pictured an aged version of Jeanne Ellen. She had a feeling that loose wrinkled skin and sagging body parts wouldn't agree with the Catwoman.

"Whatcha plotting, Beautiful?" Lester cocked an eyebrow, when Stephanie stepped in front of him.

"Oh, nothing." She shook her head for emphasis. "You were looking for me?"

"Just wanted to make sure you're still good with this."

"Stop treating me like a damn china doll," she gritted through her teeth. Before she could continue with the Lester tongue-lashing, she felt a familiar surge of electricity at the nape of her neck, and then another, stronger that almost knocked her over.

"Okay there, Steph?" Lester asked, watching her closely.

She nodded, turning around to see Ranger heading their way, with a woman at his side. As though he knew she'd be watching, he stopped to exchange a few words with Joe Juniak and introduce his companion. The tall brunette looked oddly familiar, but as Stephanie tried to remember where she'd seen her before, black dots blurred her vision. Squeezing her eyes shut, she exhaled slowly to fight off the sensation. When it seemed that it was working, she opened her eyes, and the floor tilted.

* * *

Drifting back to consciousness, Stephanie was lying in a bed smelling faintly of Bulgari and wearing a soft tee-shirt. _Ranger's bed. Ranger's shirt. Ranger's apartment._ Prying her eyes open, she found herself staring into a pair of concerned eyes, the color of molten chocolate. A gentle hand settled over her wrist, checking her pulse.

Knowing Ranger's stance on relationships, Stephanie had always assumed that no other woman was welcome at Ranger's penthouse, and yet, here they were. Too dumbfounded to speak, she watched the brunette, whom she'd seen with Ranger at Rossini's, jot down a few notes on a pad. Then, putting paper and pen onto the nightstand, the woman met her eyes again and said, "Not sure if you remember me, Stephanie. I'm Morgan Carter. I wish you'd met with me earlier in the week as I'd asked."

"Please, call me Steph," Stephanie corrected automatically, shaking the offered hand, as the memory of their first meeting came back in a rush. She could almost smell the hospital disinfectant and hear the words that Ranger was going to make a full recovery. "You're Dr. Carter," she repeated softly, the puzzle pieces clicking together. "You're the surgeon who operated on Ranger after he was shot two years ago. And the new RangeMan medic."

"Guilty. The lengths I'd go to help a friend." Morgan smiled apologetically. "Wasn't my place…"

"And still isn't," Ranger's deceptively even voice came from the hall. "If you're going to work for me, Carter, you have to be more aware of your surroundings."

Morgan bristled. "It's not my surveillance skills you need me for." She'd been so focused on figuring out how to help Stephanie, she ignored the feeling that Ranger was near.

"Steph, come down to the infirmary when you're done here. I haven't seen blackouts like you're having in a long time, but I'd like to test a few coping mechanisms that might help." Picking up her pad, she gave Ranger a mock salute. "Boss."

With an infinitesimal shake of his head, Ranger said, "If she wasn't such a good healer…"

"You'd call her to the mats?" Stephanie asked, her face splitting into a cheeky grin.

"No. I'd never hire her. Quite frankly, I'm still not sold on the idea. But RangeMan needs an in-house medic, and immortal candidates aren't exactly lining up for the job."

"Careful now, you're sharing." Stephanie was tempted to feel Ranger's forehead for fever, but that required getting out of bed, and she didn't know if she were up for it.

"Babe." His eyebrow rose.

"Oh, good, you're back to one word answers. I was getting worried." She rolled her eyes. "This conversation almost had potential. Too bad it went to shit."

He smirked. "Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah. You can start by explaining why you lied to me."

"Steph?" All trace of amusement left his tone, and his eyes narrowed.

"Julie? Scrog? Any of those times ring a bell?" She folded her arms across her chest. "I know immortals are sterile, so there's no way Julie can be your biological daughter. What's the deal? Start talking, Ranger, or I'm outta here."

He let out a sigh, and not the slow exhale that she was used to seeing, but a real, deep one. "Get dressed and meet me in the living room." He turned on his heel and walked out before she could stop him.

Standing by the window, Ranger tried wrapping his head around the way all plans involving Stephanie Plum inevitably went sideways, with or without a fault of her own. Though, tonight's fiasco? That was all on him. He'd been so blindsided by the petty attempt to make her jealous, unbecoming for a man his age, that he didn't foresee her fainting from being close to four immortals in a confined space. On top of that, he was feeling guilty for leaving unconscious Stephanie with Morgan after he'd gotten them to RangeMan, so he could make another appearance at the service for damage control, which turned out to be unnecessary. The 'Burgites chalked up the incident to the idiosyncrasy of Trenton's own Bombshell Bounty Hunter, and the rest of the service went off without a hitch. By the time Ranger returned to his apartment, there was another fire to put out, only now it didn't look that he'd be let off the hook quite as easily as at Rossini's.

An unexpected stab of pain seared through her when she entered the living room, seeing him rooted in the same place where he'd stood on the morning of their fight. It was then that Stephanie realized that another space where she'd once felt safe and content was no more. The Haywood penthouse had become the place where her heart had shattered, and the wound was still raw. Clinging to a shard of hope that this conversation would turn out differently than their last one here, she curbed her flight instinct and headed for the couch.

Hearing her light footfalls, Ranger turned from the window in time to see a brief look of hurt ghost over her features as their eyes met across the room. Glancing away, she settled in the corner of the couch, hugging her knees, waiting for him to speak. Making his way over, he sat down on the coffee table in front of her so he could watch her as they talked.

"A perk of being immortal, our inability to age can make life difficult at times. With the way I look, I have to change my identity every twenty-five years or so."

She nodded in agreement, urging him to continue.

"Eight years ago, before I came to Trenton, a young operative of Cuban descent from Newark, New Jersey was killed during a mission in Venezuela. A protégé of sorts, he had a troubled past: a sealed juvenile record, a recent divorce, and a child custody dispute. And since I was pushing the age limit of the identity I had at the time, I took the opportunity when it presented itself."

"So, you just took over his life? And no one questioned it?" Incredulous, she stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"I made sure no one did."

"And you don't see anything wrong with that?"

"You should know by now, I take my responsibility seriously, Stephanie." His voice dropped an octave. "When I _became_ Ricardo Carlos Mañoso, I accepted all his obligations, including caring for his parents and daughter Julie. Back then, I didn't think it'd extend beyond financial, but over the years, I've stepped up in more ways than one."

"That's mighty big of you, Ranger," she said with sarcasm. "Getting shot for some misfit's kid."

"Carlos wasn't _some_ misfit. His father is a descendant of my son. Which makes Julie my great granddaughter, many generations removed. My flesh and blood. You understand? _Mine._"

_Oops, I rattled Batman,_ she thought, watching his jaw muscle twitch. He truly believed what he'd done made _his_ family happier, and she had to wonder if there'd come a time, when she'd be cynical enough to consider identity theft to spare grief for _her_ family.

W_ho am I to judge? _Reminding herself about the contents of the envelope Hector had given her the other day, she questioned whether her choice had been the lesser of the two evils. _As if there're many options?_

"When Scrog took Julie…"

"I get it now, Ranger. Really, I do," she cut him off, "what I don't get is: why you lied to me _after_."

He studied her intently, and when he spoke, he kept his voice deliberately soft, yet measured. "What would you have me tell you? I couldn't very well say that my backup plans for the rescue had backup plans. That a top notch trauma surgeon from Mt. Sinai Hospital in the city was standing by on the helipad of Princeton-Plainsboro General as I was walking into your apartment so she could get to St. Francis in minutes if I were to get shot? And that when it actually happened, the clout of her name gave her access to an O.R. and ability to use her own team? That my recovery room was off limits to the regular hospital personnel because I was as good as new an hour after Carter had taken out the slugs? And when I was released from the hospital the dressings covered unbroken skin? Steph, if I had told you any of those things, what would you have thought? You tell me."

_You could have told me that you'd be fine. That you'd love me forever, _she thought to herself, but said quietly instead, "When I watched you drop to the floor…" Her bottom lip trembled. "There was so much blood, Ranger. Your blood," she released a shuddering breath, "I thought you were going to die."

Her whispered words triggered a memory: in his mind's eye he saw her body, lying in a pool of her own blood, sprawled on the blacktop in the empty parking lot by the abandoned warehouse. All too vividly, he remembered the searing pain he'd felt when he'd thought she'd been ripped from his life forever.

Before he knew it, his body had moved on its own. Falling to his knees, he reached for her and held her tight against his chest in reassurance she was real, breathing, and alive. The next thing he knew, his hands were tangled in her hair, and his mouth was slanted over hers as his tongue teased the seam of her trembling lips, seeking entry. Surrendering to the intensity of the kiss, she flung her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. He swept his tongue inside, sliding it against hers over and over, desperate to convey what he felt, but couldn't put into words without hedging. As if she understood, she matched his passion stroke for stroke until she shuddered in his arms, and he sensed her emotional withdrawal immediately. It didn't surprise him, though, their physical attraction alone had never been enough for her, and he had yet to say the words she'd longed to hear.

Repentant, he broke away, leaning his forehead against hers with his eyes still closed. "I'm sorry, Babe." His voice was rough, and he had to catch his breath to continue. "I couldn't tell you the truth."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, amazed by the ease, with which the word he considered foreign to his vocabulary rolled off his tongue, when he wanted to keep the trust of the one person he couldn't bear to lose. "I'm sorry for leaving as I did. For causing you pain."

Skimming along her spine, his arms encircled her waist. Tightening his hold around her, he stood up and brought her with him. "Forgive me?"

She pulled back, her hands sliding down to rest on his biceps as she looked up into his eyes. Moved by the depth of emotion she saw there, she rose to her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"You did what you had to. There's nothing to forgive."

* * *

_A/N: A few acknowledgements are in order, and from now on, these will always appear at the bottom of the chapter to avoid potential spoilers._

_To Atlanta Babe, for the push to get the explanation of Julie/Scrog fiasco into this chapter, to masterb2, for encouraging me to include more about Hector, and to merciki for inspiration, a thank you.  
_


	15. I don't want to be the girl

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, a simple thank you doesn't seem sufficient for all the work you do to help me move the story along.  
_

_I'm sorry for the wait between the updates, I'm trying to do better, but life isn't cooperating very well right now. Thank you all for your messages, hearing from you means the world to me._**_  
_**

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**Chapter 15. I don't want to be the girl who has to fill the silence**

Stephanie had never been so grateful to hear the buzz of Ranger's phone as she was in the startled silence that followed her words of forgiveness. Her willingness to move past the hurt had been genuine if a bit rushed, as she became keenly aware that the divide, which Ranger had so carefully constructed to keep them apart, was closing rapidly. Unsure if she could handle the breakneck speed, with which their relationship was changing, she welcomed the interruption the call would undoubtedly provide.

The furrow between Ranger's eyebrows deepened, a clear sign that he didn't share the sentiment and wasn't at all eager to release her from his embrace, but stepped back nevertheless, to take the call. Stephanie made a beeline for the window and stared into the darkness outside, her gaze unfocused. It was getting late, and if she didn't want to spend the night on Haywood while Ranger took care of whatever emergency that had come up, she needed to figure out how to get home. She was fairly certain that she didn't have her car at RangeMan and was oscillating between calling Lula and asking one of the guys in the control room for a ride, when two strong arms wrapped around her waist. Involuntarily, her head tilted to the side as soft lips skimmed the shell of her ear.

"I have to go, Babe." Unsurprised, she gave him a slow nod of acceptance, when he added, "Stay with me tonight?"

"Here?" she asked, mentally berating herself for sounding shaky.

Catching the hesitation in her voice, he murmured into her hair, "Steph?" and then turned her gently to face him. Brushing a stray curl behind her ear, he looked into her eyes. "Please, don't shut me out."

She wished she could play her cards closer to her chest, but had little in her arsenal to counter the power of the word _'please',_ especially when it came from this man. Unable to hold his gaze, she looked away, sighed, and scrambled to come up with a plausible reason why she didn't want to stay at his penthouse. Anything would be better than confessing that the pain from his rejection still haunted her.

Even if he didn't seem to buy her explanation, he didn't press for more and, slipping a set of car keys into the palm of her hand, closed her fingers around it. When she vehemently shook her head, trying to give them back, he said, "You need a car to get home, Babe. Take the Turbo. I won't need it tonight. Remember, you're coming back to RangeMan first thing tomorrow morning."

"Right. I have a date with Morgan." She sighed again. "Too late to see her now."

"A date, Babe?" His lips twitched.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean," she said quietly, and then added quieter yet, "as if I'd have a real date."

Amusement faded from his eyes as he understood that he'd given her too much space after they'd left the house in Rumson. She'd taken his temporary absence, no matter how justified, for indifference, and he had to act fast to clear up the misconception.

"I'm cashing in your rain check, Babe. Dinner tomorrow. Pick you up at six." Determined to make up for the lost time, he smiled slightly. Tipping up her head, he dropped a kiss to the corner of her mouth and whispered against her lips, "wear something fun."

He left the apartment before she could formulate a response. Dazed, she stared at the closed door. _Fun? The hell does he mean by fun? _she asked herself, touching a finger to her lips, still tingling from the brief contact. _Did he just ask me out on a date? In a Ranger way he did, _she supposed. Shaking off her stupor, she shoved the keys to the Turbo into the pocket of her sweats and went into his bedroom to gather her things so she could go back to her place.

* * *

The following morning, Stephanie was settled on a cream leather couch in the office next to the RangeMan infirmary, the office she still thought of as Bobby's, and sipping a syrupy-sweet concoction she'd made of her coffee. She'd hoped it would dull the vile aftertaste of the umpteenth herbal infusion Morgan had her drink less than half an hour ago, but to no avail. They'd spent hours, trying everything conceivable, from meditation to needleless acupuncture… As much as she liked Morgan, Stephanie wasn't about to let her stick real needles into her body, not that it would help. She suspected that they weren't going to find a _'coping mechanism',_ as Morgan had dubbed it, to allow her to share space with more than four immortals at the same time and not black out, today. For all their efforts, the longest she had lasted was ten minutes, and after that, inevitably, it was lights out.

Waiting for Morgan to finish recording the results, or rather lack thereof, Stephanie let her mind wander and was accosted with thoughts about a tornado of changes that had swept through her life. Not much of a planner, she'd usually preferred to wing it, though now it felt wrong to squander a seemingly endless lifetime by settling for mediocrity.

Morgan's voice roused her from her melancholy. She blinked owlishly at the other woman and asked, "I'm sorry, what? I must have zoned out."

"How much sugar did you have today, Steph?"

She frowned, counting. There were two Boston Crèmes she'd picked up on the way to RangeMan that morning, a blueberry muffin she'd snagged in the break room, a few mugs of coffee loaded with sugar, and a bar of chocolate from the emergency contraband stash she'd restocked in her cubby. "Six servings, give or take?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"A bit of both?" Stephanie shrugged nonchalantly. "Why?"

Morgan picked up her black mug off a mother of pearl coaster and took a large swallow of tea. "I was just thinking that a diet with less refined sugar…"

"Na-uh!" Stephanie cut her off, "Is he in on this?" She lowered her voice to imitate Ranger, _"Babe, that stuff will…"_ and stopped abruptly before finishing the sentence.

"Omigod!" She set her mug on a coffee table with a thud, turning a wide-eyed stare at Morgan. "That can't be. Is that why he eats that damn rabbit food?" She blinked slowly and muttered, "but I can't! This and the jelly doughnut hormones? I'll go crazy."

"Steph?" Morgan's eyebrows climbed, as she tried to make sense of Stephanie's rant. "I'm not sure I follow. You can't be this upset about curbing your sugar intake?"

Stephanie flushed crimson and bit her bottom lip before speaking. "I'd rather faint than deal with the fallout from being off sugar."

"Okay, diet's out then," Morgan said pensively, but didn't pry, accepting Stephanie's non-explanation.

After a beat of silence, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, frustrated by her inability to help Stephanie, and then spoke in a tight voice, "I knew a woman, years ago. Her fainting spells were just as bad as yours, if not worse. But, last I heard, she'd since learned to control them."

"How?" Stephanie asked, thinking that if Morgan couldn't help, this other woman might.

"Can't tell you." Morgan smiled mirthlessly. "We're not exactly what you'd call friends."

"Well, then maybe I should talk to her myself?"

"Easier said than done. For one, I haven't seen her in years. I know she lived in Europe for a while, but I'm not sure exactly where. Though, I'd imagine she still visits Paris."

Stephanie might have imagined a barely audible insult Morgan had uttered about the woman under her breath, but she didn't give it much thought before blurting out, "Then I'll go to Paris!" and snorted, "Yeah, sure. That'll happen."

Morgan shook her head at Stephanie's self-deprecating humor. "I'll see if I can get you a better address."

Glancing at the wall clock, Stephanie realized that Ranger would be picking her up in about five hours, so she bid Morgan a good weekend and rushed out. In the garage, she climbed into her clunker and started it without a hitch. Hector must have had it delivered from Al's on a flatbed, since she hadn't seen it in her lot in the morning when she'd left in Ranger's Turbo, and the clutch was now fixed. Making a mental note to thank her guardian angel, she floored the gas.

Driving by Pino's, she decided to pick up a sub for lunch and pulled into the lot. Morelli's truck was parked by the door. _We were bound to run into each other eventually_, she thought, angling the car into a vacant space. Climbing out, she dragged her purse from the back seat and walked inside. Spotting Joe by the bar with a bottle of root beer and two slices of pizza, she guessed that he was working. After placing her order to go, she slowly made her way toward him.

"Hey, Steph. You sure know how to liven up a wake." He chuckled at his shameless pun. "You're the talk of the town. Been taking lessons from your Grandma? Face planting in the middle of Rossini's like that… Takes skill."

"Screw you, Morelli!" She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

He flashed a lecherous grin. "Hate to break it to you, Cupcake, you already did."

"Oh, gimme a break." She thumped his bicep. "I got lightheaded."

He took a long pull from the bottle, thoughtfully looking her up and down, his gaze briefly stopping on her midsection. "You pregnant?"

"What? No!" Indignant, she raised her voice, forgetting that Joe had no idea that she was now sterile. "How the hell can I be pregnant?"

"Christ, Steph! Chill." He raised his hands in surrender, "I had no idea it's been that long for you. Stop by my place, I'll explain the birds and the bees. Jog your memory?" He waggled his eyebrows. "You know, for the old times' sake?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll pass," she said casually, her mind drifting.

It wasn't all that surprising that the reminder of the loathed grapevine cinched her decision to go to Europe. When she'd told Morgan she would go to Paris she'd thought she was joking, but standing in the middle of Pino's, exchanging barbs with her ex-boyfriend gave her the clarity she'd been searching for ever since she'd found out she'd become immortal. For the first time in her life, she had the means and opportunity to do what she wanted. So she'd take a vacation, mix business with pleasure so to speak. And if she learned something on the way, great, and if not, traveling around Europe wasn't the worst way to spend a few months.

"Anything to help a friend…" Joe continued, missing the faraway expression on her face.

"Ugh. Shut up."

She shoved him off the creaky stool, making a spur of the moment decision to tell him that she was going on vacation. In a backward way, Morelli knowing about her plan guaranteed that she'd stick to it, if only to avoid his merciless ribbing. It was Saturday, so she'd give herself a day or two to settle things with Dillon, Vinnie, and her parents, and fly out the following Tuesday.

Unfazed, Morelli climbed back on the stool and gave her a warm smile that only six months ago would have surely gotten him into her bed, but she was determined not to fall back into that pattern. While she wasn't totally unaffected by his charm, she'd been on that merry-go-round more times than she should have, and knew all too well it wasn't worth the baggage.

"Your loss, Cupcake."

"I'm serious, Joe, cut it out. I'll tell you something, if you promise to keep it to yourself. At least for now."

He pretended to lock his lips and throw away the key, and waited.

"I'm getting out of town for a while..."

"Why?" His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "You want maybe I kick someone's ass for you?"

"No, Joe." She had a feeling that he had a particular ass in mind, but he was off the mark. "I'm just tired of feeding the rumor mill." She let out a slow breath, realizing that she couldn't very well tell him that she was going on a wild goose chase across Europe after some immortal woman, who might help her learn to control her dizzy spells. _Here's to walking a mile in Ranger's shoes_, she thought with a twinge of remorse, before focusing on Joe again to spin a believable story.

"Remember Mike Kaminski?"

"Quiet carrot-top? Glasses? Yeah, he was a year behind me in school. Why?"

"His aunt Marlene runs a travel agency on Hamilton. After I took her to the station to get re-bonded yesterday, she gave me a few brochures. I think I'm going to Europe."

"You think you're going to Europe? Just like that?" He stared at her, incredulous. "Point Pleasant doesn't cut it anymore?"

"I need to get away, sort things out. Decide what I want to do with the rest of my life."

"That's deep, even for you, Steph. What does your Ma have to say about that?" When she hesitated before responding, Joe gave a low whistle. "She doesn't know yet! Oh, good, Cupcake. Real good. You know, I'd sit through dinner with your folks to hear that conversation."

"I've never been to Europe, Joe," she said quietly, "and now that I want to go, I actually can. Something's wrong with that?"

"Running away never solves anything." He narrowed his eyes at her. "What about Mañoso?"

"It's not about him." She said in a rush. _Liar, liar, pants on fire._

It wasn't as though Joe and Ranger would compare notes, so she decided that her little white lie wouldn't hurt either of them. She had the rest of the weekend to figure out how to tell Ranger, but Morelli didn't need to know that.

"You never did listen to me, Joe. Ranger and I are just friends. That hasn't changed after you and I broke up."

_Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that,_ a small voice said in her head. _It's not as if you have a date in a couple of hours… or wait, you do. So, cut the crap and get out of here, you've told Joe enough._

His voice cut through the white noise of her mental monologue. "He's not stopping you?"

"No, I'm doing this for me. And he respects my decision." _Or at least I hope he will_, she added to herself.

"Like I said before, poor dumb bastard." Joe smirked. "Though, he's dumber than I thought if he's letting you go. He's gotta be blind…"

She shot him a glare, her voice growing uncharacteristically sharp. "Don't go there."

She hadn't talked to Joe about her relationship with Ranger while they were a couple and wasn't about to start now that they were, whatever it was that they were. _Not friends yet, not after the semi-recent break-up. Former lovers? Didn't matter in the grand scheme of things,_ she decided. Wasn't something she had to worry about. She needed to get ready for her date tonight and pack a bag for her trip. Picking up the takeout off the counter, she said, "I should get going. I'll be seeing you, Joe."

He nodded and rose off his bar stool to pull her into a tight hug. Startled by the sudden move, she hugged him back and heard his murmured, "don't be a stranger, Cupcake," before stepping back and clearing her throat to speak. "Bye, Joe."

As he watched Stephanie pull out of Pino's parking lot, Joe couldn't shake off a feeling that this was the last he was going to see of his Cupcake. Although, he had to concede that she wasn't his anymore, and if he were totally honest, she never truly had been. He ran his hand through his hair and tossed a few bills on the bar; Brown's body wasn't going to find itself, and he was getting static from the chief for not having any viable leads. He smirked when it occurred to him that Steph's leaving might rattle Mañoso enough to get him off the chief's back and the open case of the missing body into the cold case files. And maybe after the dust settled, he'd even feel bad for his adversary, since neither of them had gotten the girl at the end.


	16. Something to get off my chest

_A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. _

_I'd like to thank __Merciki and RangerLuv2,_ for reading through the rough draft and urging me to continue, and Highlands Girl, for putting her amazing beta skills to work on this chapter. I really couldn't have finished this one without your suggestions and encouragement.  


* * *

**Chapter 16. Something to get off my chest**

"Packing, Babe?"

"Ouch!" Stephanie yelped in pain, rubbing the back of her head to feel for a goose egg. When she'd jerked up from the crouch on her closet floor to the sound of Ranger's voice, she'd hit the shelf hanging over the shoe rack.

"C'mere, I'll kiss that knot better." His voice, tinged with amusement, drifted into the tight space between the racks of her clothes.

She groaned, knowing just as well as he did, that the bump would go away on its own in a moment, and then managed, "Gimme a minute."

After her head had stopped throbbing, her hand slid down to the back of her neck to settle over the familiar tingle. _A lot of good this hypersensitivity is doing me, if he can still catch me by surprise_, she mused darkly as her excited anticipation was swept away by a wave of acute panic. _Omigod. He knows I'm leaving._

With trembling hands, she straightened her one-shouldered tunic and tried to collect her addled thoughts. Earlier, as she was getting ready for the date, it occurred to her that while she still wanted her _someday _with Ranger, she wasn't ready for it to start tonight. On their first real date, she was hoping to spend time with him, content with staying in the moment, and just let go, without overthinking it. Uncertain how he'd take the news of her imminent departure, she wanted to create memories to take along on her journey, just in case… But now that his early arrival had dashed her hopes of telling him about her trip on her terms, she briefly entertained the ridiculous though not altogether unappealing thought of hiding in her closet for the rest of the night.

"Babe, come out now, or I'm coming in."

She heard the smile in his voice and was at a loss for interpreting his lack of reaction to seeing the wheeled duffle, which she'd gotten at Macy's for a steal during last season's holiday sale, packed to the brim, at the foot of the bed. Mustering up all the confidence she could, she picked up a pair of black sling backs and sashayed back out into the bedroom.

Ranger was leaning on the doorjamb of the bathroom, six short steps away from the bed. Waiting for her to emerge from the closet, he'd folded his arms across his chest, the sleeves of his charcoal button-down rolled up to his elbows, the contrasting slate cuffs folded over his taut muscles. He'd left his sable hair loose, and she had to reel in the urge to thread her fingers through the silky mane when she stepped in front of him. His dark eyes glinted, meeting hers, as if he knew what she was thinking.

"You're stunning," he said, his voice dropping as he drank her in, from the tousled sun-streaked curls cascading down her shoulders, and the iridescent blue chiffon top, matching her bright eyes, down to her toes, painted deep red. He pushed off the jamb, reached forward, and gently tugged her to him by the belt loops of her tailored ankle pants. "Just beautiful."

"You're not so bad either," she said, her face turning a light shade of pink under the sheer makeup.

"Babe." The corners of his lips curved up. "You ready to go?"

She blew out a long breath, dropping her gaze down to the pumps still dangling off her fingers. "Aren't you going to tell me that I should be more aware of my surroundings?"

"Wasn't planning to," he said softly before brushing his lips over hers once, twice, and then drew back an inch, "it would ruin the mood."

As his lips traveled up her jaw, her eyes fluttered closed, and she stammered, "The mood for what?"

"Tonight, I'm going to seduce you," he murmured in her ear, "mind, heart, and body."

His words sent shivers down her spine, and she felt the heat flaring up within. He'd often told her that teasing him was like playing with fire, and tonight, it seemed, he was set on burning her to a crisp.

The shoes landed on the carpet with two dull thuds, one echoing another, and her hands flew to his shoulders, her fingers curling into the silk of his shirt. As his mouth sought hers again, his clever tongue coaxed her lips apart, scrambling her ability to think. A low moan came from her throat, and her knees nearly folded under her.

Anticipating that response, he'd had his hands firmly planted on her hips, anchoring her to him, and tilted his head to continue his unhurried exploration of her mouth. Instead of remaining passive as she often did, she upped the ante, sliding her hands into his hair and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Unprepared for the rush of desire, threatening to shred his self-control, he broke away.

"Let's get out of here," he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat, "If we don't leave now, I can't guarantee that we'll make it to dinner."

She was fairly certain that, despite his warning, Ranger possessed enough restraint to resist the temptation of her bed; regrettably, she couldn't say the same for herself. And since it was obvious he'd put a lot of thought into the evening, she was eager to find out what he'd planned besides getting her naked.

"Okay then." Stepping back from his arms, she slipped into her sling backs and snagged her purse off the night stand. "I'm ready to go."

* * *

The delicate harmony of Spanish guitar, lamenting from the speakers inside the Turbo, tugged on Stephanie's heartstrings, and she caught herself softly tapping her fingers to the rhythm on the silk clutch in her lap.

"You like?" Reaching over, Ranger brought her hand to his mouth and placed a light kiss to the inside of her wrist, then winked and released her.

Her hands grew clammy, and she tucked them into her wrap, before looking back up at him. "Huh?"

"The music," he said with a slight smile.

"Very much." She grinned at him, her face brightening. "This is Flamenco?"

He gave her an infinitesimal nod, turning his attention back to the road as he shifted gears to accelerate up the ramp onto the interstate.

Studying his sharp profile, she decided that he didn't look as though he was in his driving zone. "We aren't having dinner in Trenton, are we?"

"No." He changed lanes, passing the slower-moving vehicles, and then added unexpectedly, "Sea Bright."

"Oh." She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. "Were you planning to stay at the shore house tonight?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "If that's what you want."

Blushing again, she turned away, deciding to let him interpret her silence as he might. The fiery melody took over the melancholy one, and Stephanie felt her pulse pick up with the beat, though, wasn't sure if the music alone was to blame.

"When are you leaving?" Ranger asked matter-of-factly, but his question worked better than a bucket of ice water to quell her fantasies, bringing her back to reality.

"Monday or Tuesday. I don't have tickets yet," she mumbled uncertainly, and braved a glance at him, wary of seeing anger, or worse, a blank mask on his face. "You're not mad?"

"No, I…" He checked himself, before telling her that he'd thought they'd have more time together. Springing his newfound revelation on her now that she'd made a decision to leave didn't feel right or fair, and he settled for taking her hand in his again. Running his thumb over her knuckles, just as he had when he'd told her about Bobby's departure from Trenton a week ago, he said, "I've met a lot of immortals in my lifetime. And only Lester didn't run off chasing rainbows after he turned. Not that he had much choice in the matter. He was halfway across the world on a military campaign." He smirked mirthlessly, "So, I knew you'd leave eventually. I just didn't know when."

"Then, who told you?" she asked cautiously, hoping that Joe had kept her confidence.

"Carter."

"Morgan?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "I made a stupid joke, and she decided I was serious?"

"Her conclusion was right on the mark, no?" He arched his eyebrow as though daring her to deny the truth of his statement.

"But, I don't understand…" Stephanie's voice trailed off.

"Carter has," Ranger paused, lowering the volume of the speaker system, as he searched for a fitting description. "Let's call it _'a gift'_. She often knows what people need before they do."

"What is she, psychic?" Stephanie snorted.

"Her ability isn't paranormal." He contemplated the thought for a beat, before adding, "She is a healer."

"Ranger, I know Morgan is a doctor," Stephanie said impatiently, "but what does that have to do with being able to predict the future?"

"No one knows what the future holds, Babe. Not even Carter. But she interprets clues. Body language. Voice inflection. She listens for things left unsaid, so she can treat her patients," he paused, "It's what makes her so good at what she does."

Deciding to tell Stephanie the rest, he continued, "Before she became a surgeon, she was a medicine woman. Not many surgeries were performed when she started, fifteen hundred years ago."

"Holy cow!" She covered her mouth, then narrowed her eyes. "You're messing with me."

"Not at all." He shrugged, but was careful to keep his tone neutral. "Carter is Morgan le Fay."

"As in the legend of King Arthur?" Stephanie gaped. "That Morgan? The witch?"

"Babe, witches aren't real. That's stuff of fairy tales."

"Said one immortal to another," she said sarcastically.

"Touché," he sniggered.

"Speaking of fairy tales, have you ever asked Morgan how much of the legend is true?" She shot him a sideways glance and caught a flicker of amusement in his expression. "Never mind, of course you haven't."

In the silence that followed, a niggling feeling that she was missing a piece of the puzzle refused to leave Stephanie alone. Fiddling with her earring, she stared ahead through the windshield, absently taking in the myriad of houses lining Ocean Avenue on the left, and restaurants, beach clubs, and bars clustered along the boardwalk on the right.

The Turbo stopped at a traffic light, and about thirty yards up the road, she spied a gray and white awning over a building with floor to ceiling plate glass windows, draped with old-fashioned tulle. When Ranger pulled into a circular driveway between the cherry trees, wrapped in sparkling garlands of white lights, she eyed him quizzically. "Il Mulino, Ranger? Isn't that a bit much?"

"It's our first date," he said as if it explained everything, and killed the engine.

"Oh," she sighed, and then added almost to herself, "I might be underdressed."

"Babe, you look incredible." His tone was tender, and his gaze warm. "You know that, right?"

She swallowed the words of protest, for once, restraining the urge to blurt out the first thing that came to her mind, and nodded, giving him a small but grateful smile. How he always managed to tell her exactly what she needed to hear, was a phenomenon she didn't want to examine too closely, realizing that Morgan wasn't the only one, who had the talent of reading people. _What if it isn't so much 'a gift', but a well-honed skill acquired along with the ability to mask one's own emotions?_ A sobering thought, for sure, was worth mulling over when she had more time for reflection.

Ranger handed the keys to the valet and made his way to the passenger side of the Turbo. Opening the door, he gave Stephanie a blinding grin, inordinately pleased to see her beam at him in return. She'd gotten pensive at the end of the drive, almost reserved, and that wouldn't work well with his plans for their evening. Helping her out of the car, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the short walkway to the restaurant entrance. In the dimly lit anteroom, a young woman, wearing a smart black sheath, greeted them from behind the podium.

"Mañoso, party of two," Ranger said to the maître d', sliding Stephanie's wrap off her shoulders and handing it to the waiting youth from the coat check.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mañoso, your table should be ready in a few minutes." She smiled apologetically. "Would you like to wait at the bar?"

Ranger gave the woman a perfunctory nod, before opening the door for Stephanie and following her into the dining room.

At quarter of seven in the evening, the restaurant was busy, but Ranger and Stephanie had no trouble finding two stools at the far end of the mahogany bar, which ran the entire length of the wall on the right. Two steps above the main floor, it was separated from the dining area with black wrought-iron balustrade, giving the illusion of privacy to the bar patrons.

Draping his arm over the back of her seat, he leaned in, so he didn't have to compete with Frank Sinatra for her attention, and asked, "How about a drink before dinner, Babe?"

"I'd love a Bellini," she hesitated, letting out a soft sigh, "but if I'm going to have wine with dinner, I probably shouldn't." She turned a vintage print coaster between her fingers. "You know how well I hold my liquor."

"I do," his eyes danced with mirth in the candlelight. "A better question is, do you?"

When she shot him a quizzical look, but said nothing, he brought his lips even closer, so his breath tickled her neck, and lowered his voice. "Since the change, your body can rid itself of poison, I mean, _any poison,_ in a relatively short period of time. You can down a bottle of hard liquor and be stone cold sober within the hour." He drew back a little and smirked. "Not that I'd recommend it."

She followed her best 'Burg eye roll with a shake of her head that bordered between amused and exasperated. "Do I look like a teenager, whose parents forgot to hide the keys to the liquor cabinet?"

His booming laugh caught the bartender's attention. When the man made his way over to their side of the bar, Ranger ordered their aperitifs. Nodding with approval at their choices, the bartender moved around his domain with practiced ease, mixing, stirring, and pouring, and as he worked, he was quite willing to talk wine with Ranger, pointing out a few rare bottles, available on the wine list that evening.

While the men talked, Stephanie's mind drifted to her morning conversation with Morgan. And as the bartender set a tall flute down in front of her, she suspected she'd found the missing piece of the puzzle that had bothered her earlier.

"You know, Ranger," she began slowly, waiting for the bartender to step out of earshot. "This morning, when Morgan told me about a woman, who might know of a cure for my blackouts, she sounded as if there was no love lost between them. So, I was thinking," she fell silent and held his gaze for a beat, "if she's Morgan le Fay, then the other one wouldn't be Lady Guinevere, by any chance?"

* * *

_A/N:_

_Il Mulino is an old New York Italian restaurant with many locations all over the country, though, there isn't one in Sea Bright, and I've taken artistic license with its look and feel. The closest NJ outpost is at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City, NJ._

_I hope you've enjoyed this installment. It's been a while since I've written romance, and as I'm trying to decide whether to wrap Ranger and Stephanie's date in one or two chapters, I'd love to hear what you think. _

_Thank you so much for reading along and reviewing.  
_


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